


Gears Keep Turning

by RecklessRedcoat



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Grimdark, Loads of spoilers, Seriously. Do NOT read if you haven't played Gears 5, Sex, Slow Romance, Spoilers, Trauma, War, em - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessRedcoat/pseuds/RecklessRedcoat
Summary: Elizabeth Carmine grew up on the stories of her heroic uncles and father- inspired by them to follow into the military. Now, as a proficient driver and mechanic in the COG army, her fortitude and bravery are put to the test when the Swarm rises from below, and will forge her into the Gear she knew she was born to be.Focus on Lizzie Carmine and Male OC.Currently rated T for violence, language and horror. May be changed to M when adult themes are later introduced. (Read disclaimer!)
Relationships: Lizzie Carmine/Benik Thorne - Male OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue - Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: (CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS SO IF YOU HAVEN'T TOUCHED THE GEARS 5 CAMPAIGN DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!) I do not own anything related to Gears; it, and all characters, known canon locations and weapons are solely the property of The Coalition, and I claim only my original characters, events and locations.
> 
> This is a fanfic revolving around Lizzie Carmine in an AU where she survived the end of Act I of the Gears 5 story. This fanfic takes place of jumping between points from before, during and after the course of the Gears 5 story, developing her character from an aspiring mechanic to the confident warrior we know her as based on what we already know, saw and heard of her, alongside her relationships with a couple of OCs and the existing cast. I will be going with the canon ending of JD surviving and Del dying in Act IV, so for those who picked Del to survive, I sincerely apologise in advance.
> 
> My grasp of the Gears lore outside of the games is also not 100% solid, so again, I apologise for any continuity errors as it may be down to creative freehanding in order to make the story flow better.
> 
> This is the work of a humble fan trying nothing more than to provide a piece of emotion, violence, triumph, romance, and above all, entertainment.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Prologue**

**Chapter I - 'Nightmares and Daydreams'**

_**~ Lizzie** _

_**~ Tyro Garrison - New Ephyra** _

_**~ 42AE - 84 days before the evacuation of Settlement 2** _

* * *

_She stood amongst the midnight plains of the battlefield; fire and smoke danced into the endless black sky; the sound of chittering gunfire, echoing explosions and reeling screams of dying Gears._

_Elizabeth Carmine was glued to the spot- her boots barely soaking into the muddled earth,- the Enforcer SMG in her hands felt lightweight, yet she didn't have the strength to lift it. Behind the steely-illuminated gaze of her visor, her natural blue eyes were wide and affixed on the horror that surrounded her._

_The unimaginable terror of her father and uncle's past had returned, and it bore a new, vengeful skin._

_The scourge of humanity had crawled from the grave to gnaw at the old scabs of the war they fought so long and so hard to end until they were wounds once more, fresh and bloody; tearing at the foundations of the COG with more promises of war and extinction. She hadn't ever dreamed it was possible..._

_But the nightmare had returned._

_The antithesis of mankind. The true enemy. The Locust._

_The Swarm._

_All around her, Lizzie saw the twisted hybrid of man and Locust fall upon her brothers and sisters with unbound fury- blasting them away with scavenged weapons of the COG and the Locust. Even when the initial waves of the Swarm were cut down by the drilled Lancer fire of her comrades from behind sturdy barricades, the following onslaught mercilessly trampled over their own wounded and overwhelmed the Gears; dragging them down and tearing them apart in an avalanche of scaly hide, raw muscle and gnashing teeth and claws._

_Even the DBs- indefatigable stalwarts of the COG military and the mechanical safeguard against threats like this- proved ineffective; the Peace Maker Shepherds too slow and clumsy to counteract the voracious savagery of the Swarm Drones- stolen Lancer chainsaws and crude pig iron knives rending the robotic soldiers into oil-spurting wrecks._

_The stench of blood and death; the screams of torment and despair shook Lizzie to her core- rendering her incapable of acting._

_She wasn't trained for this, for god's sake. She was a mechanic; a maintainer of the Coalition's Minotaurs, Armadillos and other vehicles with the offhand knowhow to tackle roughneck Outsider raiders and insurgents; she wasn't trained to deal with the Locust...or whatever the fuck these things were._

_Everywhere she looked, she saw the terror unfold; the COG were losing- humanity was losing. She lost count of the number of Gears she saw die in comparison to the horde._

" _L-Lizzie…" she heard a voice call just above the cacophony of slaughter, a voice she dared not to turn and look towards, but against her better judgement, she felt her body twist to the familiar calling._

_Clayton Carmine lay slumped against a barricade, accompanied by a small mound of mangled and battered Swarm and Gear corpses. A Lancer was wedged halfway into his chest cavity- the flesh parted from his left collarbone, causing his head to slump sideways in a sickeningly-awkward angle and spattering his armour in smears of blood and chunks of tissue and bone._

" _You...cou-uld h-have...saved me...saved s-someone…but you didn't...why? Why didn't you s-save us, Lizzie...?" the harsh words wheezed from the inanimate, violated corpse of the Grub Killer._

_Lizzie's heart skipped too many beats when she registered the words of her uncle; a man she loved and admired as valiantly as her father. The Enforcer dropped from her hands, splattering into the quagmire of mud and blood at her feet with no sound._

_Her eyes screwed shut as her legs lost all feeling,- crushing under the weight of guilt as she collapsed into a kneel. She screamed and wailed, not even caring that she couldn't hear herself over the deafening roar of humanity's demise all around her- hot tears carving dirty trenches down the grit of her cheeks._

_She screamed and called for her uncle, but he didn't reply; instead the corpse continued to bleed and fade into the blackness of the hopeless war; everything began to fade. The endless sight of ruin, destruction and the end. The smell of smoke, puke, piss and blood; the sound of gunfire, tearing flesh and futile screams. Everything slowly dissipated- leaving Lizzie alone in an empty, vast plain of black._

_She relished the oncoming damnation; penance for her ineptitude. So many died because of her...it was her job to fight with her brothers and sisters, or to drive them to salvation and let them fight another day...instead, she let them die because she wasn't ready...she failed them. She failed herself..._

_The torturous void of darkness that she let swallow her whole was suddenly beginning to bleed with light. The bitter silence punctured by the raising crescendo of a dull, mechanical buzz that only grew in intensity._

_A horizontal blade of light began to ebb into her veil of black- causing her eyes to sting in reflex, even through the light filtering of her helmet visor. The buzz became deafening; a rallying call to the waking world._

* * *

Lizzie's eyes naturally peel open,- squinting in immediate response to the cruel invasion of daylight shining through the window that faced her bunk.

Her eyes remained fixed on the drab blanched ceiling of her room in grim, faceless realisation.

She lay there for a few moments as she came back on friendly terms with reality, before her left fist blindly hammered down numerous times onto the nightstand to silence the disruptively-effective alarm clock; her fourth fistblow sufficient to shut the damn thing up.

A soft exhale leaves her lips as she is returned to the silence of her room- the faint din of the outside world masked by the thin walls and code-sealed door. She doesn't have to look at herself- she could feel her chalk-grey tank top was glued to her skin; the bedding beneath her damp with a sheen of sweat.

"Shit." She breathlessly sighs out, lifting her right hand to rub over her face to remove some of the layers of sweat she gathered on her brow, courtesy of her recurring nightmare.

She glanced at the time shown on the clock and immediately scowled to see it read 09:23. No doubt the good selection of the galley breakfast would be all but gone at this point.

Without a further thought, she threw her legs off the bed- the sheet seemingly discarded some point during her restless night's sleep, went into the bathroom and showered.

She was out of her room by around 09:42,- dressed in a more black and far-less-sweaty tank top and her signature clementine insulated motor pool trousers. All she was missing now was her trusty helmet, breastplate and that worn leather jacket she tied around her waist. But she expected no warfare, today...or at least she hoped.

Usually she kept a slow pace- more than eager to stop and draw a humorous template response from a passing DB unit or chat to any Gear she recognised along the way, but today she adopted a brisker speed and kept her head down; not only was she friggin' hungry, but she'd rather not take any human interaction until the vivid memories of last night's dream were all but pushed to the back of her head.

Lizzie crossed the courtyard of the Garrison and entered the living hub- not really drawing any attention much to her satisfaction. As she rounded the corner into the galley, she took a sigh of relief to find it was more or less empty; a few Gears sat solo or in pairs spread amongst the wide array of benches used for eating food, clearly ones who prefer to avoid the initial rush and first pickings, but she counted no more than five heads when the galley could easily hold most of the Garrison at one time.

Her stomach rumbled slightly, kickstarting her inertia to grab a plate and cutlery then approach the table for breakfast. No surprise, most of the options were already gone, prompting a faint grunt from Lizzie.

"Teach you to ignore your alarm for, like, three hours, dipshit." She reprimanded herself silently, but sighed. Not like she could blame herself; if she could've woken herself up on command she would've done so every fucking moment that nightmare came crawling back. She shakes her head in self-pity, before reaching to take what morsels she could with hungry determination.

As she managed to get half a ladle of beans, a quarter of scrambled egg and a tidbit of bacon rind on her plate, a hand wrapped in a disposable glove reached from the other side of the table, seizing her plate out of her hand.

As she looks up to issue a warning of painful beatdowns to the perpetrator, her gaze immediately softens upon the hardened, yet playful scowl of the chef.

"Goddamit, Ms. Carmine...y'can't eat nothin' but scraps; your uncle'd nail my ass if he found out I let ya eat like a rat." The chef softly quips in his natural drawl. Lizzie resigned herself with a sigh.

"Yeah, Diz, I know...please tell me you've got some stuff just cooling in the microwave? Hell, I'd take just a block of cheese from the fridge, right now." Despite the defeated sincerity of her words, that earned her a quiet chuckle from the aged Dizzy.

Turning around with the assistance of his crutch in his free hand, he begins to hobble behind the doorless walkway into the kitchen.

"Hang in there, private. Uncle Wallin's got just the thing for you.~"

With a fatigued nod, Lizzie lazily turned on her heel and stole a seat at the nearest unoccupied bench. Propping her arm on her elbow and resting her cheek upon her palm, she found herself staring into the matte white finish of the table- the haunting images of the past few nights starting to creep into the corners of her eyes again, before she softly grunts to herself.

' _Goddamnit, get your shit together, Elizabeth; you're a damn Carmine- a lady from a long line of asskickers!'_ She feels herself wrestling with her thoughts, and feels the negative side win. ' _Yeah...you're a Carmine. But you're not -a Carmine-.'_

Her thoughts were interrupted when a china plate filled with numerous rashers of bacon, grilled tomatoes, scrambled eggs and beans clattered before her eyes, disrupting her from her thoughts with a soft yelp.

Looking up to her right, she sees the aging Dizzy looming over her- his face now showing a glower of deep concern. With ailing limbs, he softly ambles to sit beside her, removing the net from his nest of ash-white hair.

"What's eatin' you, honey?" The retired Gear-turned-cook asked softly. Despite the fact he was infamous for showing a happy-go-lucky hillbilly type, Dizzy's reputation of being a deceptively-perceptive and intuitive grandfather figure still preceded him in his elder years.

Quirking her lip, Lizzie doesn't spare him a glance as she gouges a forkful of egg off her plate and scoops it into her mouth, savouring the buttery smoothness.

"Am I really that obvious?" She quips rhetorically which rewards her with an unamused deadpan. Smacking his lips, Dizzy shuffles himself to be a bit more comfortable.

"Well, you're stayin' in late for the past few weeks. You've inherited your uncle-dearest's obsession with bacon, and the fact you weren't front of the queue knuckling Alverez's face in over the greasy prime stuff rings a hella lot of alarm bells. And- and I mean this with the greatest respect, honey- ya look like shit." He offered her a friendly smile, which she slightly reciprocated.

He wasn't wrong, after all...she was usually out of her pit by seven sharp on a bad day- earlier on the norm. Her and Alverez- her fellow squadmate from Echo-4- were always in friendly competition on who could grab the fresh bacon first, and whilst Lizzie kept her raven hair short and easy to maintain, she hadn't even bothered slightly tuning it after her shower.

She forsakes her fork in favour of taking up a rasher of crispy bacon and taking a bite. Chewing it slowly, she relishes the greasy goodness before she softly shakes her head with a forlorn sigh. Dizzy lightly bumps her shoulder.

"C'mon, Elizabeth...open up to me, ya gotta trust your fellow Gears. Your uncle's worried about you, too..." The concern was evident in his drawl. The fact that this was the first time she was made aware Clay had picked up on her recent sombre vibes struck a sad pang in her heart.

With some semblance of guilty acceptance, she discards the half-munched bacon back onto her plate; her appetite suddenly vanishing.

"I never knew this day would come...the day we'd be at war, again. With the grubs of all things…" She drones quietly. It had only been a matter of weeks since the public announcement of the truth behind the vanishing Outsider villages and COG establishments culminating in the reveal of the Swarm's existence from the First Minister herself, and the effect was- as expected- poorly received; even some of the Locust War veterans who still served in the army today were still restless and relapsing their traumas buried over twenty-five years ago.

Her father had long resigned from the COG army, and now serves in administration- mainly so he could still keep tabs on her and Clay- the latter of which seemed eerily too calm with the prospect of going back to war with the grubs.

But for Lizzie, the prospect wasn't the same. She was a fighter, for sure, but the idea of going to war with such a historically-vicious and merciless entity terrified her to the core.

Dizzy gave her a sympathetic smile.

"We beat 'em once, darling. We'll do it again." Lizzie shook her head in reluctance.

"No, no, that's not it, Diz. I'm…-I'm not ready for this kind of war. Sure, I've fired a lancer, gotten my boots on the ground and into scraps and taken down some Outsider bandits, but...these new Locust? This 'Swarm'? I'm scared I'm gonna fuck up; get myself killed, get someone else killed- fuck, maybe someone I care abo-" Lizzie's quietened ranting had drawn some traces of attention from the few souls in the galley- given their reluctance to fully turn and watch her display was enough to show that witnessing a Carmine have a mini panic attack was enough to jarr them.

However, Dizzy was quick to interrupt her- placing a hand upon her shoulder and locking eyes with her.

"Enough of that crap. You're a fuckin' Carmine; you're blood of Clayton; the bravest, most indestructable motherfucker on Sera- the Grub Killer. When the Swarm lays eyes on him and you, they'll crap their skivvies and crawl back into their holes. And, you're the daughter of Danny, the best damn pilot and greaser to ever hold a spanner...besides me and Baird, of course. But ya don't just take after him; you're the best darn mechanic I've ever seen; hell, I'd even trust ya to tune Betty up, god rest her sweet soul." Dizzy kept his words quiet and level, but the firm confidence in his tone helped stoke some kind of fire in her.

Lizzie could recall all the stories her father and late mother told her; how Lieutenant Daniel Carmine's piloting skills helped save a wing of Ravens from an onslaught of Locust Reavers. The teachings Clay gave her on how to shoot, how to fight and survive up until the day she enlisted, and even then, he continued to watch over her and advise her- mould her into the gear she knew would do Clayton, her father, her mother, and her uncles Anthony and Benjamin proud.

She allowed herself a small smile, taking up her fork as her appetite resurfaced with a vengeance- a small sense of hope kindling to hold against the young adolescent despair.

"You're gonna be fine. The COG are gonna beat these scale-assed grub turds back into the ground, and you'll be among the boots doin' the stompin'. And then,-" Dizzy leans in closer, flashing her a wink, "- you're gonna go on a date with Benik.~" Lizzie dropped her fork again to clatter on the plate- complete with a half-eaten, skewered tomato-, eyes going wide to shoot Dizzy a glare of embarrassed bemusement as a faint flush colours her cheeks. She opened her mouth to protest, but Dizzy lifted a wrinkled hand with a hearty laugh.

"Nope! Ain' gonna hear it from ya! I've seen the chemistry brewin' between you, and I see the way you've looked at him."

Lizzie opts to stare at Dizzy for a few moments with her mouth ajar. Finding no denial to immediately spring to mind, she scoffs, then takes another bite of bacon.

"So?...is it a crime to look at a great ass, every once in a while? Just because you're dieting doesn't mean you can't look at the menu." She wriggles her eyebrow at Dizzy, who squints with a knowing grin.

"Name a valid diet, and I'll maybe buy that handsome scoop-a bullshit." He cheerily teases. Lizzie just...stares at him. For someone as sharp-witted as her, she seems to have hit a snag far more complicated than any busted-up minotaur engine. As she opens her mouth to speak, the galley intercom drones to life with the telltale introductory blare that would wake even the most hungover deep sleeper.

All eyes in the galley turned to the hailer; the filtered voice of Major Valker coming through.

" _ **All Gears of Tyro Garrison; report to the hangar at 10:30 sharp for an urgent briefing. That is all."**_

The few Gears in the galley turned to each other to converse quietly, perhaps speculating the sudden call to assembly. Dizzy's teasing grin had faded into a look of more taciturn flatness as he and Lizzie eyed one another.

"I should probably go. Thanks for the breakfast, Diz." Lizzie remarked with a half smile, before giving the old cook's snow beard a gentle tug. Dizzy smirks and softly swats her hand.

"My pleasure, Ms. Carmine. I may have hung up my Lancer, but I'll always be hangin' round the kitchen and the motor pool if ya ever need me, darlin'."

Lizzie nods at the sweet gesture, pushing herself to her feet and giving the half-eaten breakfast a mock sad pout, before making her way to the galley door. As she checks the clock overhead to see 10:09, she wagered she could make it to the hangar of the Garrison with about ten minutes to spare.

Besides, with the maelstrom of thoughts in her head right now? She was in no rush.

Shoving her hands into her overalls pockets, she switches her feet on autopilot and begins the trek to Tyro Garrison's aircraft hangar.


	2. Prologue - Chapter II

**Prologue**

**Chapter II - ‘Echo Squad’**

**_~ Lizzie_ **

**_~ 8 minutes later_ **

The walk to the hangar was uneventful, which was more a boon to Lizzie than usual. It gave her more time to think and reflect on her and Dizzy’s small midlife crisis talk about her fears; the Swarm, her comrades, her family.

Even when she broke out into the open concrete field that served as the Garrison’s connection hub between the many indoor facilities and outdoor training and leisure spots, she drowned out the background ambience of the droves of Gears populating the vast courtyard; the thunderous echoing melody of DeeBees marching in perfect unison around the courtyard and the loud purrs of Minotars, Packhorses and Armadillo APCs rumbling past as they chundered along to numerous points in the Garrison.

She paused where she stood, and turned her gaze to look at the New Ephyra skyline. The humanity reconstructed from the brink of extinction and the people within were living a normal life, utterly unaware of the nightmare now lurking down below. Lizzie’s lips quirked into a sad smile. Her uncles died, and Clay and her dad fought long and hard to bring this tomorrow about for her and all of the other new generation that didn’t have to grow up in the horror of that today...and now the COG found itself at war, once again, and everything they built was now at risk, once more.

_“Soldier. You are obligated to report to Garrison Hangar 0-31 for priority debrief. Loitering and failure to comply is a form of minor insubordination, and will be reported to the nearest commanding officer.”_ The deep, booming mechanical voice shook Lizzie from her reverie with a startled gasp, looking to her left to find herself staring into the breastplate exoskeleton of a DR-1- it’s quadruple cerulean-lensed visage gazing emotionlessly down at her.

Fuck, she hated how by-the-book and bossy these robots can be. Whilst she didn’t mind the newly-militarised Shepherd Peace Makers and their Deadeye sniper counterparts, everything about the colossal DR-1 units still rubbed her the wrong way, slightly.

Regardless, the machine _was_ right, even though she’d hardly consider looking forlornly at her city for a few minutes ‘insubordinate’. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighs and nods. 

“Yeah, understood DeeBee...Private Elizabeth Carmine, on my way.” Her words provoked a faint whirr in the DR-1,- it’s visual eye nodes twitched and arched a few times- almost as if using her rank and full name may have updated its hive mind-like database for future reference. After a brief pause, the DR-1’s strange motions ceased entirely.

 _“Your compliance is noted, logged and appreciated. Carry on, Private Carmine.”_ And with that, the large droid’s gaze snapped back ahead- like Lizzie had never entered its attention span, before it began to march off in solitary patrol.

She watched it for a few moments,- a somewhat satisfied sneer forming on her face, before she sighed with a grim nod.

“Well...time to face the music, Carmine.” She muttered to herself, before turning on her heels to continue her path to the hangar.

Even when she had withdrawn her thinking once again, her peripherals told her she was nearing her destination; the courtyard had begun to make way for a sparse concrete plain that held no infrastructure, and the only Gears she could make out were all headed in the same direction she was. She only really switched her awareness back on when the looming shadow of the Garrison hangar began to loom over the concrete.

Despite her being an inhabitant of Tyro Garrison for a while, the inner engineer inside Lizzie is always baffled and in awe by the immense size of hangar 0-31; the vast aircraft storage facility was sizable enough to fit half a dozen DB Kestrel units tethered to the ceiling and a couple of Condor carrier aircraft on the surface within the hangar confines; the runway itself contained numerous bays for the King Ravens that was constantly populated by the pilots and COG greasers doing diagnostic checks, resupplying and refuelling, test flights and actual departures for aerial patrols, supply runs and policing the skyline; as expected, these personnel were also filing in towards the rapidly-populating hangar doors.

Lizzie instantly noticed the two large bulwark-like gates were already opened to their full extent; birthing the interior of the hold, and all the aircraft within, to full view.

The interior had seemingly already been prepared for the priority debriefing; the center where the mechanics would travers around had been abandoned in lieu of setting up an announcement podium lording over neatly-arranged rows of chairs.

The many dozens of Gears both in and out of armour that had begun to pool from the Garrison were filing into some measure of organisation; some opted to take one of the many chairs, some took a more humble approach of standing behind the rows. Regardless, it was also obvious to see every Gear was ‘squading up’- with either friends or their actual assigned combat teams...speaking of which…--

Curiously, Lizzie came to a halt amongst the teeming horde of Gears, and began to scan amongst the many faces and helmets, hoping for by some slim chance to spot--  
“Hey! Carmine!”

Bingo.

Lizzie’s head turns to the bellowing voice to find the source; a red-headed kashkuri woman waving enthusiastically at her with a toothy grin. Lizzie allowed herself a warm smile; she found her family, all gathered by the row of chairs closest to the western door- situated near a series of rather cosy-looking hydraulic pumps, fuelling mechanisms and equipment chests.

Picking up the pace in her step, she narrowly sidestepped around a patrolling duo of Shepherds and joined the conglomerating conga-line of Gears.

The moment she crossed the threshold through the hangar doors, the daylight of the Tyran morning was cut away by the soaring insulated steel sky of the hangar inside- populated by four Kestrel DB helicopters and replacing the room with a cold, mint-colored light from the overhanging bulbs.

She continued to follow the ranks, until she broke away to stand by Echo-4,- her squad, who had seemingly waited at their cozy little spot for her.

The kashkuri gave her a light bump on the shoulder as she finally joined in, snickering teasingly.

“There she is.~ The hell’ve you been?- Wait, don’t tell me; whinging over the fact I got to the bacon first because you were catching up on beauty sleep?~” She gives Lizzie a shit-eating and sarcastically-platonic smile, to which she responds with a simple middle finger.

“Suck a butt, Alvarez.”

“That’s a pretty solid ‘yes’, then.~” Private Ellen Alvarez gave a triumphantly-amused snort, which automatically brought a smile to Lizzie’s tired face.

Born to a kashkuri family who inherited extreme wealth and nobility, Ellen had a particular disliking to the attitude of her parents due to their constant displeasure of her desire to not follow in the footsteps of becoming an heiress.

A tomboy at heart with a thrill of the wild, Ellen joined the COG to escape the gilded cages of noble life and became a frontline surveyor and scout,- meeting Lizzie very early on in the academy and boot camp, before both Carmine and Alvarez were eventually assigned to Echo-4, together; Ellen’s skill with her customised Markza Mk.1 was remarkable and her enthusiasm was a consistent aura that lifted the spirits of her fellow Gears.

It also helped that she and Lizzie were always in some form of semi-bitter-yet-friendly competition over just about anything, but in their times in the COG together, they have always stood shoulder-to-shoulder and supported one another; rivals in arms, yet sisters at heart.

“But in all seriousness, the bloody hell’s been keeping you? You’re usually the first to everything. Now you’re barely rolling out of bed until stupid-o-clock and have been acting so bloody weird. You’ve been like this for...a few weeks, now.” Alvarez folded her broad arms across her chest; she was out of her armour- dressed in a simple green vest top in khaki cargo trousers with her medium-length red hair tied into a bun.

Lizzie scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, briefly looking at the ground as if a suitable explanation was printed there for her to recite to the three pairs of eyes on her.

“Well, it’s...kinda hard to explain.” Lizzie lamely says, provoking a canting of the head from Alvarez; the red-headed markswoman taking a shuffle forwards to softly place a hand upon her shoulder.

“Lizz...this ain’t you. Where’s the mile-a-minute jokes, electric confidence and adorable little mannerisms? C’mon, we’re both Echoes...we’re always here for one another. Spill to your best sister _ever_ , Ellen.” Lizzie lifts her eyes from the ground to stare into Alvarez’s own, to see the woman giving her a fully-supportive, beaming smile. “We’ve been together since the academy, Lizzie. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

Lizzie’s lips curve upwards into a faint smile. Damn it, there was that suave yet sweet silver tongue of hers, again.

“Well...maybe we sho--” Lizzie began.

“Enough, you two; we can discuss our personal feelings, later, eh?” A stiff ostri-accented voice grated from the second figure,- a broad giant of a man dressed in a black compression shirt and his COG-issue combat trousers. Whilst his tone was flat, his face was soft and sincere.

Lizzie gave a soft, thankful smile to Sergeant Vasili Gorchev for shifting the focus off her, even with his abruptness.

Gorchev was a brash, yet wise and experienced soldier- a former fighter for the Ostri Republic during the final act of the Pendulum Wars, and held no personal agenda against the COG or the states they controlled. When the COG Open Arms program was initiated in the early days of the Locust War, Gorchev eagerly signed on- renouncing his tithes to the UIR and siding with his former enemies to destroy the Locust. Even twenty-five years on after the Locust War came to a pyrrhic end, Gorchev still serves in the COG army, fighting on the frontlines and in the trenches with his men despite his impressive dedication and leadership skills worthy of making him an officer; he even claims to boast turning down opportunities of said-officership a few times...a claim he consistently wears like a badge of honour; perhaps he just liked using his recently-acquired MK.3 Lancer GL and plethora of grenades and explosives just a bit -too- much…

Regardless, this only adds to his fierce determination and his fighting spirit. However despite the fact that whilst he is a loud, abrasive and angry man who primarily uses his muscles and explosions to do the talking, he was infamous to have a bit of a soft, elastic heart for those he considered friends; and more particularly harboured a special spot for Lizzie.

Gorchev reciprocated Lizzie’s smile with a nod of the head, in which provoked a faint scoff from Alvarez.

“Really, Vas? Gonna get all sargey, now?” The grizzled former Indie looked at Ellen,- teasing her with a knowing grin.

“Oh, absolutely. Just because I know it annoys you, and there ain’t a thing you can do about it.” Lizzie watched the small exchange with growing amusement, then her eyes fell on the third and final member of Echo, and whilst her smile dwindled, she could swear her heartbeat was now getting louder in her eardrums.

“Why you always gotta be a cock, Vas? We have Benny-boy, here, for that.~” She unfolds her arms to ruffle through the hair of the final Gear who was currently reclining against a large tool chest. His face screws up into a scowl as he idly swats her hand.

“Fuck off, redhead.” He snaps in a flat voice, which seemed to be the desired effect of Alvarez, as she snickers childishly, and even draws a chuckle from Gorchev.

Lizzie’s eyes are met by the dark brown of Benik’s own, and she is quick to avert her gaze- more to make it look like she was looking at him on the whole and registering his presence than actively scoping it out. He wore a simple pair of dark combat trousers and the frayed sage-green shirt he usually wears under his armour; short brown hair unkempt and his facial hair consisting of sideburns and a beard that never seemed to fully connect were recently trimmed. Unlike the other squadmates, he was purely Tyrus-born.

Private Benik Thorne was the youngest and newest of Echo-4, and probably the most complex. According to the grapevine, he’d been in the COG army for a good while, before the Swarm were officially confirmed, but went AWOL for a good month or two during the initial rise of the new Locust nightmare, only to be seemingly pardoned and reinstated- much like the legendary James Dominic Fenix.

A few of her colleagues speculated a manner of bizarre conspiracy theories to his story and why he was so hush-hush about it; Lizzie found herself believing the far-more-believable theory that he was aware of the Swarm long before the majority of the COG was, and went on his own mission against orders. Not like she knew the truth…

Benik was an extremely reserved man- what he didn’t explain in words, his incredibly-expressive body language and facial gestures did, and he rarely spoke about himself. On the outside, he was of cynical, somewhat bitter and grim ideals- very much like her own uncle Clay. What baffled her even more was how he was only twenty-three years old and he carried himself like a veteran in their forties; he wasn’t the biggest, strongest or most shrewd of men, but his skill with the tried-and-true Lancer and his penchant for close quarters fighting was something to be reckoned with. In the many weapons-free training exercises against DeeBees Echo-4 have participated in, Benik’s bitterness had a habit of being channelled into a creepy battle focus and rage that makes him fighter harder, faster and more vicious than most Gears she’s fought alongside.

In all honesty...Lizzie found that little ‘gimmick’ kinda sexy; the way the quiet and semi-brooding guy turns into a freak lumberjack-straight-outta-hell with his chainsaw, and how despite his _awful_ hand skills with vehicle tuning (she had to held him with replacing the handlebars on his Ratbike, which he just so happened to break trying to adjust, himself), he can drop an empty Lancer mag and slam and lock a fresh one in within the same heartbeat.

It really didn’t help that she was also partially attracted to Benik--...well, try _majorly_ attracted. She couldn’t tell it if was the short, brown hair, the incredibly-expressive chocolate eyes, the somewhat-average build in comparison to some of the tanks that are the usual COG Gear or his accent. It reminded her very much of Lieutenant Fahz Chutani, only it wasn’t as harsh or obnoxious; kinda suited the vasgari officer perfectly.

Regardless, Benik Thorne’s presence always served to make her cheeks feel hotter than necessary, and she goddamn _hated_ not knowing why?

 _‘Well...ma always said you had a fatal attraction to unhealthy boys, Elizabeth…’_ She thinks to herself- holding back a coy smile; she _really_ didn’t want to look like a stalker in front of him; they’d barely spoken apart from a few times.

She didn’t have to speak to him to know he was always a tad uncomfortable being the focus of attention- that’s mainly why she kept her mouth shut and never asked too many questions. In fact, thinking about it herself, she can’t recall really asking him anything. It was mainly just...awkward small talk that somehow blossomed into a semi-stable conversation.

It’s both interesting and confusing to Lizzie, as those few awkward times are sole suspects to why she’s so desperate to find out more of him; why she finds him so damn attractive, even though he no doubt didn’t share any mutual feelings or desires.

* * *

**_~ Benik_ **

**_~ 2 minutes ago_ **

He shuffled uncomfortably; his tailbone just happened to be positioned on a ribbed handle of the tool chest and no matter how he moved, it always seemed to feel like he was slipping a disk on the bastard.

Benik bit back an absent-minded swear, and instead busied himself with looking around the interior of the hangar, mentally counting all the visible tools some lazy twat left out of their rightful places and debating how much ammunition was inside each Condor gun, only to see the cables holding the fourth Kestrel on the ceiling looked suspiciously loose. His face sets into a bemused flatness.

 _‘Fuck sake, can I just focus on one thing that isn’t somewhat irritating or offering a potential predicament of injury?’_ He smiles to himself at the morbid thought,- eyes sentiently roaming, paying no mind to any of the slowly-amassing Gears; even the ones that acknowledged him with nods.

He wasn’t ready yet to forgive the COG for how they disregarded him,- disregarded his family. The audacity they had to brand him as a rogue when he was just doing his job, only for them to now suddenly welcome him back with open arms and pretend to sweep everything about him being right from the start under the carpet.

He wasn’t doing this for the COG, at this point, he was doing this because it was time for assholes to die- the scaly fuckers that took everything from him.

He didn’t even realise until Ellen’s accented drawl grated upon his ears that he was barely focused on the debate between Alvarez and Gorchev about one of their usual trivias. He hadn’t really tuned in to what they were discussing; as much as they were his squad, he’d hardly call them friends. He’d only known them for a handful of weeks at best; they weren’t Sierra-5.

He’d take a bullet for them and make sure they got out safe, for sure, but he wasn’t going to offer them tea and biscuits anytime soon. Ever since it happened, he made it pretty clear his trust had to be damn-well earned; three extra heads don’t get that right away just because you were assigned to them to compensate for what you already lost.

Ironically, that’s when he noticed they were a head down and his focus began to return in full.

Benik casually and quietly turned his attention to the incoming ranks and files of Gears approaching the hangar,- keeping his eyes tentatively peeled for the telltale helmet of Carmine.

Elizabeth Carmine was considered the kid of Echo-4; that impression was plain as day the moment he first stepped into their shared barracks. Benik knew he was a topic to some of the gossiping types of Tyro Garrison; end of the day, it’s not normal for a Gear to desert his post, go AWOL then suddenly be reinstated straight away like that. Not since the days his father served in the Locust War, that is.

But one thing he always noticed, is not once did the prodigal Carmine girl ever try to ask him about what his schtick was; not even attempting a clever way to shoehorn it into a conversation. Lizzie didn’t treat him as a disgraced insubordinate turned fighting Gear; she treated him just...like a fellow Gear- another human being, and that was something he grew to respect. They only spoke outside of training and patrols a handful of times, and whilst the occurrences were short and somewhat awkward, they were sweet, and Benik did enjoy them- not that he’d ever admit it, of course; he had a reputation to maintain.

But still, regardless of his own personal code and desire to not get burned by getting attached, again, he couldn’t help but grow to admire the young Private Carmine- she was a solid Gear in the making, just like her father (from the stories his own dad told him; the two had served alongside one another at a few points in the war).

She had the mechanical knowhow of a professional engineer, the handling of a capable fighter and the stability of a rock; a trait she no doubt inherited from the Carmine family tree. It was also a pretty substantial bonus that she was fucking gorgeous, with a fantastic arse.

Every time they finished a training exercise, Benik always somehow found himself mesmerised by how the black overalls clung to her shapely hips with that adorable, crappy jacket she always tied around her waist. And even though she adhered to the Carmine tradition of wearing her helmet, she’d be just as damn fine without one- that freckled face, her deep blue eyes, raven hair and a cheeky smile that always seemed to put a faint itch in his groin.

Yeah...Lizzie was one hell of a woman, and in the few weeks he’s known Echo-4, he was willing to lay down his life for them, but more importantly, he was finding himself perhaps willing to trust the young Private.

A faint crack snaps him from his reverie as a palm crisply collides with the side of his head; Benik winces with a sneer- hand immediately coming to nurse his singing scalp whilst glaring daggers at the attacker.

“Wake up, Benny.~ You looked like you were seeing a ghost in bed. Or rather...something else _-in your bed-_. Whatcha looking for?” Alvarez teased as she folded her arms across her chest. Benik scoffed as he continued to idly rub his head. He couldn’t knock Alvarez’s skill as a sniper, but goddammit was she just the most obnoxious prat on the face of Sera.

“Jeezus...could’ve just spoken to me rather than lamp me upside the head, you twat.”

“We did. You didn’t answer.” Gorchev interjects, staring at Benik with a bemused smirk. Benik felt his cheeks grow a tad warmer, and he sighed.

“Go on, then. What’s so bloody important that your head decided to take a flight to La-La Land?” Alvarez repeats,- a knowing grin on his face. God, what a bitch.

Benik goes back to folding his arms and leans his weight back onto the chest drawer- a decision his back will no doubt berate him for, later- before nonchalantly turning his eyes back to the gathering of Gears amongst the line of chairs.

“Was keeping a mental count of how many Gears I recognised to drown out your ramblings about the Thrashball leagues.” He says weakly. Even if the answer was a solid lie, Ellen still saw through it like glass- provoking a raucous giggle from the kashkuri woman.

“Oh, you’re so full of crap! You were on the lookout for our dear Lizzie Carmine.~” She added a sultry tone to her voice, and the warmth in Benik’s cheeks began to blossom into a small bonfire on either side of his face.

“Oh, shove off, Alvarez; not everything’s as straightforward as you and Peters.” He assertively grunts. Gorchev’s eyes widen, and he turns to give Ellen a questioning stare. The red-headed marksman just shrugs with a coy smile.

“Wait...you fucked Peters? The Corporal from signals?” The ostri sergeant asked- father-like pride and humour in his voice. Alvarez’s smile broadened.

“Hey. I’m twenty-eight and single; he’s thirty-five and divorced. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” She gives Gorchev a firm nod and gives her hips a faint wriggle; Benik’s eyes roll at the tedious gesture, and once again, lets his focus drift off as Gorchev and Alvarez begin discussing her rapidly-expansive sex life.

What pissed him off is just how correct Alvarez was...what annoyed him more is how she didn’t ever tell Lizzie about the times he was caught out staring at her arse or face when she wasn’t looking, almost like Ellen wanted to ‘let things fall into place on their own’. Whilst, yes, he would very much like to just take Lizzie to bed, one night, it wasn’t practical or feasible; they were at war, now...and Benik couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. A clouded head gets people killed, and given the fact he had a vendetta to fulfill, he needed to remain focused for the foreseeable future.

“Hey! Carmine!” Alvarez’s voice carved through his thinking, once again,- shattering that said-focus-, and his gaze followed the calling of her voice.

There she was.

About a hundred metres from the hangar doors, Lizzie stood outside amidst the remaining stratas of Gears filing into the hangar.

 _‘And she isn’t wearing her helmet, either...’_ He hears himself think. She smiles that same damned smile, and begins making her way over. Keeping his mouth shut, he waits for her to approach- drinking in her choice of clothing and notices her hair. _‘Bloody hell...she’s fresh from a shower and still looks the way she normally does?’_ He inwardly scowls at his pervasive thoughts; fortunately, Alvarez had already stolen the limelight of Lizzie’s attention, which allowed Benik to withdraw and not draw too much attention.

Time passes like a blur,- Lizzie gets reacquainted with Alvarez and Gorchev whilst Benik remains comfortably in the background. He wondered what this whole priority meeting was about...maybe the Swarm were on the move? Had the legendary Marcus Fenix passed away? His naive mind continued to spindle away half-arsed theories, until he felt Alvarez’s hand through his hair once, again, shattering him from his reverie, once more.

“Fuck off, redhead.” He snaps, and swats her hand away with a crisp slapping noise. Of course, that was the reaction she wanted, as that signature shit-eating grin plastered itself onto her mug, once again. Rolling his eyes, he chanced a glance over to Elizabeth only to find himself making perfect eye contact with her. He froze, only allowing himself a single blink before Carmine’s quick to avert her gaze and make her look a little more aloof. Benik didn’t let himself pull a face or anything, but he sure as shit noticed; he was many things, and one of them was perceptive and great at reading body language- given his own knack to let him use his own to communicate or express himself.

 _‘The hell is going on with us two..?’_ He rhetorically thinks to himself, but decides not to make a comment; God forbid he’d say anything remotely about this in the presence of Ellen fucking Alvarez.

Their eyes meet again, and Lizzie follows up with a somewhat-shy smile. Once again, he finds himself like a deer in a Packhorse’s headlights, and he does the only thing that seems natural at that current time…

He furrows his brows and his lips purse. This only serves to make her smile thicken slightly.

Giving in to what he really wanted to do, Benik allowed himself to crack a thin, fleeting smile, which seemed to earn him a repressed giggle from the quiet Carmine.

Alvarez’s arm suddenly wraps around his shoulder, and brings him in, whilst the other limb wraps around Lizzie, and draws her in to the opposite side- rewarding her with a begrudged sneer from Benik.

“Well! The fam’s back together, again! Echo-4, reporting for duty!” She cheerily sings. Benik didn’t have to look left to know Gorchev was letting his face rest in his palm, but somehow, he still missed the distinguishable flush on Lizzie’s cheeks.

He opened his mouth to shout another curse at Ellen, but the loud scraping of metal on concrete sheared through his train of thought. He found himself- alongside the rest of Echo and a few other dozen Gears- looking towards the wrought iron gates of the hangar slowly grinding shut- the last Gear stepping through the threshold to join the gathering.

The doors clamp shut with an echoing bang- all final traces of the warm Seran sun restrained to the outside world. The lights begin to dim inside the warehouse, and a voice calls on the claxon around the interior of the hangar.

**_“All Gears. Please take your seats or find a comfortable place to stand. The debriefing will start soon.”_ **

Alavarez’s face hardens- the soldier overtaking the tomboy, and she is quick to release both Benik and Lizzie from her. Everyone in Echo exchanges a look and a nod to one another, before they all shuffle to get as comfortable as possible amongst their place with the tool chests and hydraulics.

The chitchat of Gears had dwindled to a quietened buzz as they began to file into the chairs or stand behind them.

Benik doesn’t even notice Lizzie moving to stand behind him, his eyes fixed slowly on the podium in front of the rows of chairs with a grim resolve.

_‘So it begins.’_ He thinks to himself, bitterness and hatred beginning to swim in his blood.


	3. Prologue - Chapter III

_**Hoo-boy! I just wanna start by saying I do very humbly apologise for keeping you all waiting longer than you initially expected for this one. Due to a mix of problems at home and work due to Covid-19, my free time was practically swallowed. So, I strung out Chapter** **III as an apology and ILY to all you readers who inspire me to carry on.** _

_**This chapter does focus a bit more on Benik Thorne, and he WILL become quiet a focus in the later chapters. If he seems a bit 2D right now, don't worry, all shall become clear soon.** _

_**I'll try to get Chapter IV to you all as soon as possible; I've got some nasty plans for Hadley's Gorge.** _

_**Enjoy the read!** _

* * *

**Prologue**

**Chapter III - 'Call to Arms'**

_**~ Lizzie** _

The instant Valker's voice demanded total assembly of the hangar bay, she was amazed with how quickly the ramshackle disorganised mass of Gears quickly arranged itself into a quieted set of ranks and files. Lizzie and Echo squad found themselves quick to organise themselves, feeling Alvarez's arm unhook from around her shoulders; whenever Ellen got serious, it was time everyone followed suit.

Finding her feet, Lizzie found herself shuffling to the side of Benik, giving him a faint stare only to see his eyes were glued to the announcement podium. There was something...off about the way he stared at the microphone on the booth- almost like he wanted to break it off and fashion it into a weapon. At first, she feels a strong urge to open her mouth to try and spark a bit of communication, but she thought herself better of it; the Colonel would be around soon and she'd be damned if she missed a single word of what the man had to say.

A set of echoing boots approached the podium, drawing the attention of the few Gears, including Lizzie herself. Her eyes brightened, and she held back a beaming smile as the burly figure of Clayton Carmine came into view- proudly sporting his sleeveless 'Grub Killer' armour. He cradled his signature helmet under his rippling left bicep- Lizzie found herself musing on how it was extremely strange to see her uncle without a helmet, but it was offset by the fact Clay had made the effort to straighten and trim his black beard and buzzcut to the regimental standard. Some of the Gears greeted him with quiet mumblings of his official rank; some by his name, others gave him a curt nod. Unsurprisingly, Clay only returned a few of them. But the moment his cold blue eyes found Lizzie's own, he gave his niece a soft nod with a faint twitch of the upper lip.

Lizzie gave her uncle a silently-mouthed 'hey!' in response.

She was happy to see her uncle, but the vivid image of his bloodied, half-decapitated corpse from her nightmare crawled before her eyes, and she felt the cruel bitterness of fear gnaw at her heart.

She bit her lip, and felt Alvarez lightly bump her elbow in a comforting manner- it only marginally worked.

An uneasy quiet began to settle over the hangar. All the chatter had died; even Alvarez had somehow managed to shut herself up. Most of the Gears took to idly glancing around or silently whisper to their adjacent comrades.

Another set of boots began to approach from the sideline, yet before the Gears could turn their heads to spot the newcomer, Clay's voice piped up.

"Officer on site! Atten-TION!" His right hand came up in a crisp salute, and the hangar erupted into a sharp symphony of rising, clapping boots and the swift motion of hands to heads. Lizzie sharply followed, clenching her jaw, slapping her boot heels together and bringing her hand to her head as Colonel Richard Valker stepped into the limelight, flanked either side by the tank-like plated armoured uniforms of NCOG Marines.

' _Does he have a personal drycleaner, or something?'_ Lizzie thought to herself. Even at this distance and lowlight, she could spot the immaculate quality of the Colonel's ash-grey dress uniform, complete with shining medals and pins decorating the left breast.

Her eyes flicker to the side, and she spots a certain change in Benik's face...something she couldn't quite place. It almost looked like admiration.

The Gears all held their salutes as Valker and his retinue ascended the few steps to the top of the podium, and utterly dominated the limelight- casting a thick black shadow onto the projector screen behind him. His own hand comes up in a return salute to the Garrison, and holds it for a handful of seconds, before he sharply slaps his hand back to his side.

"At ease, soldiers." He begins gruffly, motioning to the Garrison. All the Gears relaxed themselves, and slowly retook their prior positions of comfort in their chairs, whereas Lizzie just felt herself recline against the drum-like fuel pump she was resting her butt on beforehand. She watches Uncle Clay place his helmet on over his head- the bright blue eye lenses glowing to life, before he folds his hands behind his back. She holds back a snort, and her attention returns wholly to Valker.

"As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen, we are now at war, once again. Not the COG; not the Outsiders; not the remnants of the UIR we have here, today. _Humanity_ is at war." A grim resignation befalls Valker's face as both hands softly grasp the sides of the podium. That aged stare seemed to be drinking in every face in the hangar, and Lizzie felt his eyes sweep across her for a moment. "Despite the sacrifice of you or your predecessors, the Locust have returned. And with them, they are amassing a Swarm of unprecedented numbers and abominations of many forms all around Tyrus."

The hangar began to buzz with the low crescendo of shared whispers and murmurings between the gathering; something the usually-strict Colonel allowed. After a brief reprieve, he cleared his throat, which once again beckoned for silence, he took a small extendable stylus from the podium desk, and stretched it out to its full length with a few sharp clicks.

"However, with great thanks to Lieutenants James Dominic Fenix and Delmont Walker, Sergeant Marcus Fenix and one Kait Diaz, we have extensive intel gathered on these varying breeds of Swarm; their behaviour, their stature, and most importantly, what to expect when fighting them." Valker gives a nod to the Gear beside the projector, who in turn spurs into action, and begins to fumble with the machine.

Almost simultaneously, the lights of the hangar began to dim, bathing the assembly in a veil of perpetual darkness, only for the projector to whirr into life- the beam of artificial light scything through the darkness in a rainbow-hued cone onto the blank canvas as Valker and the Marines stood to one side as the presentation began.

The slideshow went on for a good hour, and not once did Lizzie feel at ease during any of it; she wasn't even keeping track of how long it took. The slideshow consisted of raw sample footage of the various documented Swarm creatures, and ' _terrifying'_ was a gross understatement to describe the savagery shown in each and every one of the still images; the photo grain quality, the way the lighting of the drone cameras cast their crustaceous carapaces like sickly exoskeletons, even in the photos where they weren't lashing out or staring at the camera with bared teeth still looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

Valker spared no detail or sugar coated anything, his in-depth analysis of the basic Swarm Sniper alone lasted nearly fifteen minutes, yet it was still enough to cause her belly to tie itself in a knot.

With every click of the small remote in his hand, Valker advanced the slideshow, illustrating a new, somehow more-horrifying abomination. The reports of their behaviour, intelligence, how they think and fight were truly extensive, even down to their group tactics and how their rudimentary gunplay can be classed as a somewhat savage doctrine, yet this was undoubtedly still unknown territory to many of the Gears in the hangar.

As the slideshow came to a close, Valker pocketed the remote, and nodded back to the soldier operating the projector. He fumbled with it briefly, before the cone of light began to rapidly diminish, restoring the darkness in the hangar, once more. Much like in reverse, the lights shortly followed after- rejuvenating the Gears in the cool mint light from high-on above.

The colonel turned on his heels, and straightened his coat whilst giving his throat a steely clearing. How the man was capable of delivering such a constant speech for nigh-on hours, only to carry on after a moment's reprise was something that usually fascinated Liz, but given the circumstances, she was only waiting for more bad news.

* * *

_**~ Benik** _

He never really cared much for Valker; too much of a posturing man who liked to flaunt his ability to give a bloody good speech with his rich-boy education-level vocab, though that wasn't to say Benik didn't approve of how Valker handled things; Benik was a bloke who liked saying things the way they were- short, sweet and as blunt as possible, no nitty-gritty details or any of that bollocks, yet Valker was capable of doing all of that whilst explaining every single corner on the topic at hand and summing anything way better than Benik could put together, himself.

And given the fact Jinn was assigning Dick Valker to this briefing meant these Gears needed to hear _everything_.

Yeah. This was bad fucking news, alright.

He noticed Chief Sergeant Carmine's appearance, of course; how can you miss the presence of a tank like Clayton without being half-witted and blind to boot? He could practically feel the buzz of suppressed joy radiate off Lizzie by his side, and whilst he wasn't going to openly admit it, it was adorable.

Lizzie spoke many times of how her uncles were her inspiration and heroes, even though Anthony and Benjamin (God rest their souls) were no longer amongst the Carmine clan, Clayton obviously spared no details in how heroic they were in their servitude to the COG- that alone, that Clay chose to idolise his younger brothers to her instead of himself, only strengthened her fondness of him.

Echo squad may have been crew, brothers and sisters-in-arms, but Clayton was her rock, her anchor to hold onto for the coming storm, and he could see the apprehensive doubt in her eyes as he seldomly glanced at her- the same look she had been wearing for the past few weeks, now.

For some reason, Benik felt the urge to place a hand upon her shoulder- to just give her a notion she wasn't alone. But fuck, would he feel awkward doing it.

Fortunately, Alvarez beat him to it, and he silently thanked the red-haired diva bitch in his head to save him from potentially making himself look an utter prat.

"Officer on site, Atten-TION!" Chief Sergeant Carmine's rough voice bellowed out across the hangar, shearing through Benik's delirium alongside the explosive synonymous clap of a hundred-plus salutes. Mouthing a silent swear, Benik follows a heartbeat behind, praying no-one noticed his moment of daydreaming.

' _Really gotta stop doing that, slapnuts…'_ He berated himself inwardly.

As Valker approached the stage,- flanked either side by the stone-grey gunmetal plates of the NCOG Marines, Benik felt something shift deep down inside, seeing those familiar helmets struck a mournful pang within him; the uniform of his father. He felt his lips twinge as he smiled somewhat sadly.

' _You'd be happy to see your boys are still going strong, dad. I miss you.'_

He couldn't shake the images of that fateful day from his head, where he and Sierra-5 defied orders to investigate the Thorne homestead. The carnage. The bodies: his father's body.

Benik inhaled sharply and silently, puffing his chest out as Valker eased the attention of the hangar.

"As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen, we are now at war, once again." The colonel began, and this only served to stoke that fire kindling within Benik's heart, for he's been at war with the Swarm for much longer.

As the hangar lights began to fade whilst the projector whirred into life, Benik felt himself disassociate from the background noise- usually he could rely on his uncanny ability to pick up all the idle noises around him, no matter how quiet. He called it a curse in disguise as selectively hearing Gears talk about their explicit personal dramas and passions during mess in the galley was not something he was ever keen on. Yet this time, there was no sound coming into his ears as his eyes focused on the still images of the Swarm.

He could physically _see_ and _hear_ them, even as he stared at the blank photos. He "heard" the Drone's guttural pidgin speech that bastardised the Tyran language boom in his head from cruel memory as he stared at the gnarled fangs of the creature as it snarled at the camera in suspended photography. It set his teeth on edge.

Some of the beasts he recognised; most of them he had already encountered and took his Lancer to. Others, however, were hideous monstrosities he had been spared the luxury of encountering when he and Sierra went on their manhunt.

And suddenly, the next slide came up. And somehow, the creature displayed on there caused Benik's heartbeat to still. He knew not the name the COG had dubbed them, but he had only seen them once before...and he had a faint inkling to what the Swarm used them for.

A grotesquely-large quadrupedal beast; a bulbous red carapace protecting a muscular underbelly that thrummed with a sickly-orange bioluminescence, suspended on four spindly spider-like legs.

There was no distinct joint between head, thorax and abdomen- the entire body was one singular entity, tipped one end with a chitinous crest-shielded head punctuated with a cavernous fang-lined maw and two baleful eyes; the other end was a long, prehensile tail, tipped with a serrated bone-like tip- like a scorpion's stinger, but more barbed for ripping flesh like a giant bone harpoon.

For some reason, the creature's underbelly was swollen- almost like it was ready to rupture and burst, and given the position of it's posture and evident gait, it was clearly on the move; it wasn't sparing the COG camera a glance, unlike the rest of the Swarm creatures that had taken the liberty of snarling, reaching out, or even aiming whatever firearm they were equipped with at the drone before saying cheese.

"This is what we have called the 'Snatcher'." Valker began. The hangar began to murmur, once more in collective thought. "We do not know how the Locust were able to produce these beasts, but we can effectively guess that much like the Drone-types, the Snatchers are Ukkon-class Locust beasts mutated by the Imulsion countermeasure system.

Our intel confirms the Snatchers are the first and usually the last wave for Swarm raids. As the name suggests, the Snatches are responsible for the abduction and harvesting of humans to drag back to hives for conversion into biomass for reproduction of the Swarm army. We know that they rarely kill; the grubs seem to prefer having living tissue for their pods." Valker's jaw clenched in visible disgust- the exhale of aspiration grazed the microphone, broadcasting his abhorrence to the assembly.

"The survivors rescued from pods have expressed varying accounts, and we have been able to range that conversion progress can take anything between a dozen hours to maybe a couple days, tops. But death is usually certain within an hour, given how the victims are kept in some kind of non-oxygenated amniotic gel, and the pods are usually located deep within the heart of the hives; an adaptation to our recent interference, without a doubt."

Benik felt his mouth hinge open; his breath hitched in his chest, confirming what he had already suspected. He felt his lips quiver- the telltale dampness behind his eyes began to well up. Clenching his jaw, he bit down hard, and swallowed. He knew that was the case, but hearing it loud and clear from Valker himself only served to strike it home, loud and clear. He forgot when he folded his arms across his chest, but he only took notice when he realised his biceps had begun to ache from how tight he was gripping them.

The presentation came to a close not much longer, after, and Benik found himself (unsurprisingly) uninformed. The horrid truths he had long known to be true were now concrete-solid, and the Swarm were gathering in strength; he knew this meeting wasn't over, and even as the lights returned and the projector died off, Benik managed to sneak a hand up to idly wipe away the stray tear that somehow leaked from the corner of his eye, entirely unaware that a certain Lizzie caught a glimpse of it.

God forfuckingbid he'd have no idea how to explain that to her if he saw that…

Valker turned his head offstage to Clayton Carmine, and nodded his head. The growling visor of the chief sergeant returned the nod, and Clay immediately turned on his heels to stalk off into the darkness towards the door. Simultaneously, the two NCOG Marines also stepped down the podium, and drew out a small ramp from beneath- sliding away the three-step stairs they used to walk on-stage and replacing it with the ramp.

He doesn't have much time to peruse the situation, as Valker is quick to dominate the microphone again. His timing and wording serve to act as a welcoming committee, as Carmine can be heard shortly after he just left, only something hung in front of his silhouette, trailing a faint creak of rolling wheels.

"Now, you've been gathered here for a reason, my fellow Gears. But I thought it best if you heard it not from me, but from someone you actually like."

Unsurprisingly, that caused a faint, brief ruckus of snickers and chuckles. The colonel smiled at his own self-humiliating joke.

"Soldiers, all rise for Colonel Victor Hoffman."

Benik wasn't surprised in the slightest that the assembly erupted into a symphony of applause and cheers instead of a single crack of one united salute as the old colonel was wheeled onto the stage by the chief sergeant. He even joined in, nodding in admiration as his palms crisply clapped together; Hoffman was a fucking war hero, and deserved to be hailed as one.

This was the man who served from the Pendulum Wars, all the way to the end of the Locust War, whilst refusing to sit behind an officer's desk to bleed in the trenches with his men. And up until now, Benik had no damn clue that Hoffman had returned out of retirement for this.

The old colonel lifted a hand,- the grizzled face beset by a trimmed, well-kept perimeter of snow-white hair pinned in place by his signature flat cap. By his gesture, as if a command, the assembly's applause faded into silence.

Clayton removed the microphone from the podium, and offered it out to Hoffman, who gave the old sergeant a thankful nod with a few hushed mouthed words, before he directed his attention back to the gathering.

"Ladies and gents. Normally I'd have avoided this return...but I fought nigh-on eighteen years alongside some of you; some of your parents, siblings, children, to bring about this tomorrow. And I'm sure not letting my ass stay out of this fight, wheelchair be damned." The old colonel's jaw clenched, and he audibly cleared his throat with a noise akin to tyres grinding over gravel.

"I'll cut to the chase. These Swarm may have gotten a head start on us with their abductions, but our intel shows us that we have a bead on one of their hives. My plan is for us to strike first, strike hard, and have these parasite bastards reeling; I want 'em to realise just who they're fucking with, this time, around."

The hangar broke into a small ruckus of cheers, whoops and more-than-eager outbursts of agreement. What Benik found a tad alarming was how Valker didn't even motion to silence the noise; it was good- building morale and confidence in a time like this was Hoffman's natural talent, and it was obvious Valker didn't want to disrupt the magic.

Hoffman holds out his hand, to which Valker places the projector remote into his palm. The Gear manning the projection goes back to his assigned duty, and activates the machine. When Hoffman pressed the button to begin whatever presentation he had, however, what Benik saw made his stomach turn, and his throat tighten.

It was a DB-1 satellite view of roughly a 200 mile stretch, with New Ephyra smack bang in the bottom right corner. In the top left, far amongst the rugged outside land, dots of the odd small-scale windflare and stretches of woodland was a portion of land circled in a thick red outline. A small valley embedded in a temperate forest in the belly of a small mountain range, and Benik knew it all too well.

"This is Hadley's Gorge. 'Bout hundred and fifty klicks outside of New Ephyra. Also the closest known Swarm hive, identified by satellite imagery." Hoffman began, pressing a button on the remote to flick to the next slide, which showed a zoomed-in version of the gorge- complete with red and yellow annotations. The old osmium mining complex was visible on this slide, alongside the cavernous mouth into the mountain.

"Unfortunately, the grub bastards are dug in deep in the old osmium mine. A frontal assault on the hive would be impossible; the Swarm'd have the higher ground, a lot of cover, and we'd never be able to fit an army in there without taking catastrophic casualties, and I'm done throwing the lives of Gears away." He motioned with precision to the annotations circling the mouth of the mine- whilst there was no visible presence of the Swarm's pods or secreted fungus, it made perfect sense that they'd set up shop deep underground.

' _Once a grub, always a grub.'_ Benik mirthlessly thought to himself with a faint smirk- the fleeting humour didn't replace the sick feeling he had pooling in his gut.

"So, instead of attacking the hive from the outside, my plan is to attack from -within-."

* * *

_**~ Lizzie** _

She wasn't at all surprised that this...well, ' _fucking insane'_ would be a gross understatement for this plan of Hoffman's drew the audience of Gears to suddenly rise in a shared murmuring of concern, confusion and outright disbelief at such an idea. Lizzie even saw Clayton's helmeted head snap at Hoffman like he had just spoken gibberish. The old colonel remained seated in his wheelchair, his eyes sweeping across the assembly with conviction on his face, plain as day.

That alone served only to unnerve Lizzie; she knew Hoffman wasn't one to joke when on the job, but Christ did this scare her.

After a solid minute of the noise, Clayton took a step forward, raising both palms before lowering them multiple times.

"Alright, people! Settle down, settle down! Assembly ain' adjourned _just_ yet!"

Clay's voice, despite the evident aged drawl showing in the mechanical filtering of his helmet, resonated across the gathering, and within moments, the ruckus began to quieten once again.

Usually uncle Clay's burly tough guy act would always cheer her up, but she didn't feel herself cheered up just one bit.

Hoffman nodded.

"Thank you, chief sergeant. Now, there is a project I've been working on with CIC for a while, now. Ever since the Swarm were announced to us, we began this operation with the sole intent of rooting out and destroying the Swarm at the source before a hive gathered enough strength to attack our cities. We call this the 'Hivebuster programme'." Silence fell. And given the faint smile that crept onto Hoffman's lips, it seemed he was appreciating the quiet instigation to elaborate.

"A small, crack team of three-to-five Gears plant a device inside the heart of the hive, then make their escape before the Swarm ever realises just what in seven hells hit 'em."

The vote of confidence was short-lived, as Hoffman sighed, and removed his cap to run a hand through his hair.

"To do this...the Hivebusters need to be willingly abducted by Snatchers, and transported back to the hive."

Again, the assembly broke out into a small enclave of whispering- some now more frantic than others. Lizzie's jaw practically thundered on the floor, throwing a glare over her shoulder to see Alvarez staring in abject disgust at the stage whilst Gorchev filled his palm with his face.

"Is he fucking serious?!" The kashkuri hoarsely whispered rhetorically. The sight alone was enough to only heighten her nerves, and as a last resort, she looked to Benik, hoping- _praying_ for some kind of reassurance. But as usual he just...stared silently at the podium, deep in thought.

' _Come on. Talk to me...tell me it's all gonna be fine.'_ Lizzie knew she was letting her head get the better of her, but she couldn't help it.

Despite the awkwardness she and Benik have towards one another, she always felt this compelling urge to confide with him; the guy was sweet enough beyond his cold exterior, and right now, she needed some of that rare sweetness. Fuck, she'd kill for just one of his icy stares, right now; just anything to let her know she didn't have to freak out, alone.

Her panicked thoughts were sapped when uncle Clay roused for silence again, this time a bit more rowdy and foul-mouthed, and got his request fulfilled.

When silence returned, Hoffman took the mic again, this time, Valker moved to stand beside him- almost as if the two were in on this together.

"Gears. What I'm asking of you ain't gonna be easy. This is war; safety is never guaranteed...but for the five of you that volunteer for this operation, I can't guarantee you'll come home safely; I can't guarantee you'll come home at all." Valker's head bowed at Hoffman's words. "But for your efforts, you could help bring us three steps closer to winning this damn war before it truly begins. I'm asking you- all my brilliant, badass warriors of the COG...will you stand with me against all odds? Risk your everything to take theirs from them? Who will aid in the Hivebuster programme, and put Hadley's hive down?"

Lizzie looked around as Hoffman's semi-inspirational words roused no response. The silence felt heavy, ugly and grave; the lack of any kind of immediate response spelled an uncertain future in the fights to come against the Swarm. For the first time in her life, Lizzie felt lost...perhaps her nightmares were some fucked-up premonitions of the future to come?

But then, a set of boots stepped forwards from the crowd. Her eyes looked left to the sound. A lone Gear- an absolute brick outhouse of a guy- stands forwards, removing his helmet to produce a blonde buzzcut and sharp blue eyes. His hand immediately comes to a crisp salute towards the podium, unfazed by a hundred-plus eyes on him.

"Captain Abraham Soren, Charlie-5. Sign me up, sir." The moment the words left his lips, the assembly roused into a sudden, loud symphony of applause, whoops and nods. Hoffman reciprocates the salute, flawless and as clean as his dress uniform, before motioning to the stand.

"Come on up, son." Without hesitation, Soren begins to approach the stadium. And as expected, the domino effect of rising morale took effect; a dark skinned engineer, with her sable hair in a ponytail, rises to a sharp stand from her chair in the front row, and also salutes.

"Corporal Regina Blake, Alpha-2! Lemme at 'em, sir!" The brash, vicious engineer was rewarded with the same deafening applause of the assembly as Soren, and without another moment, was summoned to the stage.

Lizzie felt a fire stoke within her, as the faintest dwindling of hope began to rise inside; a familiar sharpness she hadn't felt in a long time. On her immediate right, Lizzie's gaze turns to a vasgari teenager. He looked fresh out of boot…

"Private Henri Patel, Bravo-6!" The kid's squad, unsurprisingly, didn't join in the applause. Lizzie was certain the squad sergeant even reached out for the kid's arm, but he was already beelining for the stage.

Whilst Lizzie felt herself join the applause, she couldn't help but feel for the boy's comrades; she looked and acted exactly like him when she and Ellen first graduated from the academy. Eager, desperate to prove herself, uncaring of the imminent danger she was posing to face. The poor kid had no damn clue what he was getting himself into...she just hoped he was lucky. But at the same time, private Patel's enthusiasm began to make her think…

Maybe this is the turning point? The part where she can finally face her fears, tackle them head on, earn her name as a true Carmine. Her applause grew more fierce, and her jaw clenched. She couldn't even begin to remotely believe she was about to outdo Alvarez in terms of sheer volume and obnoxiousness, even when the fourth volunteer steps out. And this one _truly_ surprised the crowd.

One of Valker's own NCOG marines took a step forwards, placing his Lancer down on the podium. His partner gave them a helmeted double-take as the marine steps towards Valker. The colonel turned to face his escort with wide eyes and mouth agape, as the marine reached for a handshake.

"It's been a pleasure, sir. But now, it's time I do my part." The marine grated out- the words grazing the microphone enough for the audience to hear. Begrudgingly on the spot, Valker shook the soldier's hand, and took a step aside to make way.

The marine stood forth, and removed his helmet to show a simple man of Tyrus blood; short brown hair, grey eyes and a rough-cut face.

"Marine Jackson Yarez of the 84th NCOG brigade." Lizzie joined the audience's applause easily. By god, seeing that kind of devotion was pure fucking beauty and straight-up badass. What got her heart going even more, was Benik was right alongside her, clapping genuinely with a completely-alien smile on his face.

' _Holy. Shit...he looks so cute when he smiles. Why does he look so cu-...god dammit, Elizabeth, fucking_ _ **stop**_ _.'_ She couldn't help herself. Her morale had bolstered with the rest of the assembly. The age of peace was coming to an abrupt close, and war loomed over the horizon, but right now? Lizzie felt hope. She could feel that humanity stood a chance, and she _knew_ she would get her moment and prove herself; she was training for this. _Born_ for this, so as far as she was concerned, she could sue herself for getting a bit fuzzy at the smile of the guy she's been curiously crushing on.

But she wasn’t so eager to forget her seeing what could’ve only been a tear shed, earlier. She caught it in the faintest glance, but fuck does she wish she hadn’t seen it; Benik wasn’t one to be cornered or questioned, and now she only wanted more answers...but she couldn’t break what little they had when she cherished it so much.

But whatever he saw brought that tear, and Lizzie found herself not wanting to know any further. Now wasn’t the time to get soppy over someone else’s heartbreaks...but maybe one day, when this was all over, she’ll tell him he wasn’t alone.

Lizzie’s sombre smile at Benik went unnoticed, much to her favour, and the applause began to decline, causing the uneasy silence to return, again. Many heads turned in apprehensive pause; one of the Hivebuster slots was still vacant...and no-one seemed to be answering the call. Hoffman remained perfectly still, and didn't say a word, which Lizzie remarked as a smart trick. Morale was so high, right now, he couldn't risk saying the wrong thing, silver tongue or not.

In the silence, Lizzie looked back at young private Patel. He stood on the podium between Blake and Yarez, staring into some invisible point with a beaming smile. She felt herself sharing his passion...she had to face her fears and prove herself. But her eyes fall on uncle Clay, to see his helmeted visor glaring straight at her. He had been watching her this entire time...arms folded, body language plain as day. She saw the ever faintest shake of his helmeted head, and Lizzie felt her confidence waver.

' _I'm...I'm ready, uncle. I'm fucking ready for this. Please...let me do this.'_ She heard herself silently plead, as if Clay would be able to read her thoughts. He didn't budge an inch; he continued to watch her, that silent demeanour telling her everything she needed to know.

She knew he didn't want her to go not out of not thinking she wasn't ready or anything...she knew that much. But she knew he cared for her safety just a _bit_ too much...acting more like her dad than her mentor and uncle. Right now, she needed that guiding mentor to give her the push; she wasn't going to sit back and tweak some flat tyres whilst her squad's out fighting in the gorge, fuck that.

The fire returned in full force, and for once, Lizzie was ready to misbehave. She needed this; she was ready.

"No. Wait, -no-!"

"What're yo-"

Lizzie heard Alvarez and Gorchev hiss in protest...but Lizzie hadn't even taken a step forwards, and when her eyes inevitably turned to the sound of boots stepping forward, the fire in her belly turned to cinders, her mouth parted with a quiver, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"Private Benik Thorne. Echo-4. It's time I went home."


	4. Prologue - Chapter IV

_**Here is the long-awaited Chapter 4! Really sorry for keeping you guys waiting- COVID-19 has been kicking my ass at work and home, so I've had to use my time sparingly on this, but seeing all your comments and support has REALLY inspired me to just crack on, so I thank all of you for that! I'll try and get the next chapter out to you as soon as possible.** _

_**Enjoy the read!** _

* * *

**Prologue**

**Chapter IV - 'Choices'**

_**~ Benik** _

Suicide.

That was the word to perfectly sum up Hoffman's Hivebuster programme. It was one thing having to play an infiltrator with high stakes, but to willingly get abducted by the Swarm just for a slim chance to turn their hive into a charnel house seemed like a mission nigh-impossible. But as Benik listened more and more, he began to ponder...Hadley's Gorge was his home turf; his family homestead only a handful of miles away from the old mine.

He'd heard rumours of how those that were podded found themselves wired into the Swarm hivemind- kinda like plugging a device into a router via ethernet. Benik's lip twinged, cursing himself for such a ridiculous comparison, but he understood his own point of thought regardless. If it was true, they were able to glimpse into the eyes of the Swarm, access their memories; an ugly bleed into their own mind from the enemy. It was a long shot. Most likely to be a misfire.

But maybe, just _maybe_...he could finally get the answers he so painfully sought.

But was this really a choice he found himself willing to make? He didn't have much less to lose; no family; no home; no squad of brothers...all he had left was the Lancer in his hands, clothes on his back and his beating heart. Usually such a fleeting concept of a life with nothing of possession within it wouldn't stop him from making any kind of decision, but for some reason, he couldn't find himself the energy to step forward and make the choice.

From the silence in the assembly...even after the magic rousing speech of Hoffman, Benik wasn't so sure this programme was going to even take off. Hope was beginning to sound more and more like a pipe dream as the silence reigned on, the grim resignation of the hundred other Gears spelling just how well and truly fucked the situation had become. He looked over his shoulder faintly to see his eyes meet Gorchev's; the ostri Gear gave him a sombre nod, his folded lips and heavy stare painting a thousand pictures without a word needing to be said.

' _Fuck. And here I thought the old Indie bastard was unshakeable.'_ He morosely thought. He didn't need to look at Alvarez- he could practically feel her building up a sweat in apprehension. But the one person he dared not look at was Carmine...she'd been looking for some source of hope for weeks, now. And whilst Alvarez and Gorchev were able to be rocks for her in her time of need, he couldn't bear to see how much this sad scene was weighing down on her. She needed something to hold out for...not a hero or a saviour,- god, he knew that much about her,- but she wanted a future to fight for.

Yet that future seemed to be uncertain, and he could see her looking around in the corner of his eye. Benik felt the urge to place a hand upon her shoulder, yet again, only this time, the idea didn't seem too cringey or ludicrous.

But then, a noise broke the silence. The familiar footfalls of COG-issue combat boots drummed on the deck as a Gear removed his helmet to step forwards, meeting the podium with sharp eyes and a crisp salute.

"Captain Abraham Soren, Charlie-5. Sign me up, sir." The immediate transition from silence to raucous applause was almost deafening, almost as surprising to Benik as the fact someone actually volunteered for the suicide mission. He watched Soren be called onto the stage, and was even more stunned when corporal Regina Blake rose from her front row seat to join Soren. Benik could hear the palms of Alvarez clapping together, the rising morale already reaching the kashkuri markswoman. He folded his arms back across his chest, and allowed himself a fleeting smile.

It truly was incredible at how the bravery of one man can suddenly inspire the choices to be made by other people. And right now, at this moment, Benik found himself thinking he'll soon be ready to make his choice.

He had no reservations for young private Patel when he declared he'd join the programme, though it was fairly obvious his squad had other thoughts. End of the day, the kid was his own man, and he made this choice. For whatever reason, Benik couldn't care, but regardless, the recruit had a lot of bollocks...and he'd be lying if he didn't find that downright inspiring. Now he just hoped the lad had what it took to realise just what he had gotten himself into.

But then...he saw one of the NCOG marines step forwards. Instantly, Benik felt some sort of misplaced pride burn in his chest.

' _No fucking way…'_ He silently huffed with a smile, and the instant marine Jackson Yarez declared he was to be the fourth Hivebuster, Benik didn't give the slightest shit that he joined in the applause. He grew up on the stories told by his dad of how the NCOG were a whole different breed of soldier; indefatigable, brash, but selfless and elite in almost every way and notion imaginable. Seeing that man renounce his duty for a greater purpose, no matter the risk, was enough to almost bring that damp feeling back to the rear of his eyes.

' _If only you could see this, dad...you'd be so proud.'_ However, as the silence fell once more, the uncertainty had begun to regain its place; one of the Hivebuster slots was open, and a fifth man hadn't answered the call. Yet, when he looked to his right, he felt his heartbeat begin to quicken.

Lizzie had a certain look in her eye. One he knew anywhere and everywhere...it was the look of rationality about to be thrown into the wind. She was about to make her choice, but for what he couldn't understand...she never was one of undertaking high-risk situations, and her sense of self-preservation was undoubtedly more level-headed than most Gears he knew. It was only when he faintly followed her gaze to see she was making eye contact with Clayton did he begin to understand it all.

' _Liz...you don't have to prove yourself like this.'_ Is all he could hear himself think in his head, over and over. He understood she wanted to live up to the stories of her uncles...but the idea she was willing to die for such a small thing that could be done almost anywhere else with far less of the certainty of death was something he couldn't get to grips with. He couldn't sit idly by and let her throw her life away. He couldn't understand why he felt like this.

' _We all have choices to make...I failed you once, already, dad. I failed my squad. I'm sure as hell not going to fail you, either, Liz.'_

His choice was made, and it was his turn to be irrational. He unfolded his arms, and stepped forwards- the words of Gorchev and Alvarez already hitting his ears.

"No. Wait, -no-!"

"What're yo-"

He didn't turn back. As the eyes of the assembly focused on him, Benik realised there was no going back, now. He'd made this choice, not only for revenge and answers. He'd made it to save the one person he was beginning to believe had left to care about.

"Private Benik Thorne. Echo-4. It's time I went home."

The applause was final, climatic, and yet Benik didn't feel any semblance of heroism inside himself. He sure as hell couldn't hear the rest of Echo-4 join in. As he took his steps towards the podium, he felt a set of fingers idly graze his elbow. As he looked back over his shoulder, he saw the retreating hand of Lizzie, paired with an incredulous look of shock plastered upon her face. And for some reason, he felt guilty...he felt upset.

' _Why...do I feel like this around her?'_ He couldn't stop the invasive thought from dominating his mind's thinking, but it didn't stop his feet from moving towards the stage in any single way.

As he came to a stand atop the stage amidst the rest of the volunteers, Benik raised his head, but didn't look at a single face or helmet in the crowd, disassociating himself entirely as he mentally weighed the gravity on what he had just done.

The rest of the assembly passed like a blur; was it ten minutes? Thirty minutes? A couple hours? He didn't know. Nor did he care. All he did was absorb the key details of what came next.

The date and time of this merry little suicide squad's gathering for a debrief, and most importantly, when the fight began.

As the assembly came to a close and the garrison was dismissed, Benik chanced a glance at Echo-4, and immediately regretted meeting the piercing stares of Alvarez and Gorchev. But what stung more was the persistent look of fret upon Lizzie's face. Clenching his jaw, he made no small measure of hurry to funnel out of the opening hangar doors, readying himself for the verbal flaying he was about to receive.

_**~ Lizzie** _

_**~ 6 minutes prior** _

She wasn't quite sure how she felt. She'd been in plenty of scraps, brawls and uncomfortable situations, before, but this? Benik's volunteering was a blow that took her low and off guard- mentally sweeping her off her feet only to leave her suspended in the air and dreading the inevitable fall into the ground.

She wasn't angry; far from it. If any other Gear had suddenly nutted up before she did, then she would've been a tad pissed at stealing her chance to overcome herself...but this? She didn't expect this.

She didn't _want_ this.

She was ready to shoulder the wrath of Alvarez, Gorchev and maybe even Benik for stepping forwards, herself, but never would she have been prepared for this sudden gunshot to her heart. The rare, awkward moments Lizzie and he spent together were fleeting, socially-forced and incredulously unlikely...but they were warm and genuine. _He_ was warm and genuine. She couldn't place why she was cherishing these memories all of a sudden; was it perhaps the realisation that he may now be slipping away?

Benik begins to step forwards- away from her. Lizzie's hand goes into inertia, and reaches out. She wanted to grab his arm, look him in the eye. Refuse to let him go. This choice he was making, whatever it was, she didn't want to see it through. But then the past hour came flooding back to her…

The grim looks; the stray tear; how he looked unmoved by the footage of the Swarm...it was all piecing together inside her head. The mystery of Benik Thorne was slowly coming together. That bitter, emotionless stoicism he constantly wore like a veil? The motive behind it began to seep through.

It was one of vengeance.

And it was this revelation that was enough to cause her hand to stop mid-reach; her calloused fingertips brushing his elbow. He turned, and the two locked eyes. His face bore something she...never could place on him. But he looked resigned. Almost sombre. Lizzie found herself wanting to plead him to stay, but the words never left the pit of her throat, yet at the same time, they continued to look at one another, and it was in those scant few moments of their eyes meeting, alone, that they had begun to understand one another…

And then he was gone. His feet carrying him to the stage amidst the thunderous applause of the assembly praising their fifth hero. Lizzie's arm lost all semblance of weight, and it simply drifted back to her side. She felt the acrid, burning dampness well behind her eyes, paired with the thick, acidic lump of clay bulging in her throat.

She feels Ellen's warm hand squeeze her shoulder, yet even as she looked to her friend's morbid smile, the heat of her gestures did nothing to thaw the chill in Lizzie's heart.

She watched Benik assume the DeeBee mode that her and Echo joked about; his voidness of emotion and persistent stiffness,- prime soldier motions as he ascended the stage and shook the hands of Valker and Hoffman without any hint of enthusiasm, and he moved to stand in line with the other four Hivebusters.

"Gears. Meet Fireteam Cerberus." Hoffman motioned to the rag-tag suicide squad.

The rest of the assembly was over in a handful of minutes. The plan was simple; Fireteam Cerberus was to debrief at CIC tomorrow whilst the rest of the garrison began to mobilise the day after that. Hoffman came to a final decision that the assault would take place in the evening of three days from now.

_Three days._

And then she'll be at war for the very first time in her life.

Lizzie let out a heavy sigh- she couldn't quite calm her rapidly-beating heart. She went into autopilot, gave Hoffman and Valker the final salute alongside her hundred-plus brothers and sisters, and then winced as the hangar doors began to grind open, letting in the harsh Seran sunlight. She watched Hoffman exchange a few final inaudible words with the hivebusters- impossible to hear over the now rising buzz of chitchat amongst the Gears, but she didn't miss the fact that Benik made a beeline for the exit the moment he was dismissed. Her eyes followed him to the door until he disappeared amongst the crowd of Gears- though the occasional woop and cheery tone was enough to give away he was being idolised by some of the garrison he passed by.

This whole assembly had been a crass menagerie of revelations, horrifying truths and a deadline for war; Lizzie _really_ wished she didn't get out of bed, today, as much as she resents her lazy ass for such a thought. Turning around, she looks upon Ellen and Gorchev to find the former glaring acidic daggers at the populated doors, whilst the latter had a usual face of granite. Ellen shook her head with bulging, pursed lips, before she started making her way to the exit, Gorchev in tow.

"C'mon. Gonna rip that boy's head out his arsehole." She bore the tone of a mother about to scald a child, and whilst Lizzie initially turned to follow her squadmates, she found herself anchored in place. After the past couple weeks of consistent nightmares, daydreams and calamities that mentally thrashed her, now was the time she needed to talk to someone.

"Actually, guys...I'm gonna hang back, awhile. I need a minute." She sheepishly says. When Ellen turned to face her, Lizzie saw her friend's face had already softened.

Lizzie turned her head indicatively towards Clayton, who was currently by the podium rummaging through the variety of cables that helped orchestrate the assembly's microphone, before back to Ellen. The kashkuri took a few steps forward, and wrapped her arms around Lizzie in a warm embrace.

"A'ight, luv. We'll see you in the usual spot. Chin up, mh?"

Lizzie reciprocated the warm hug, and as she pulled away, lightly butted her forehead against hers.

"Just...please, El...go easy on him."

Gorchev stepped in, lightly placing a gruff hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be standing by to make sure they don't kill each other...but we need to talk about this, Elizabeth. _All_ of us. This is...what Nik has done is serious."

Serious was putting it lightly. But regardless, this was something she would tackle later, even if she'd be arriving to the proverbial party unfashionably late. Without another word, she simply nods to her squaddies with a faint smile, before turning on her heels to head towards Uncle Clay.

Given how the assembly was still funneling out, Lizzie took the initiative to simply wait by a row of chairs, alternating her eyes between Clayton's thankless task of unplugging, arranging and then winding up each wire and the few stratas of Gears still making their exit. Valker and Hoffman were long gone, at this point,- the major personally opting to wheel the colonel out himself; most likely to have a talk regarding the upcoming assault; fuck, this whole debacle made her head spin.

Another handful of minutes later, the hangar was empty. It had yet been given the all-clear for the bustling crews to return, and all that could be seen and heard all around was a wide open space of creaking mechanisms and dormant war engines. But this was the only chance she would have to speak to her uncle between now and the assault; no doubt he'll be spearheading the briefing. Inhaling softly, she holds in her breath, before taking the precious steps to meet her uncle.

He'd removed his helmet and placed it on the stage, and as she got closer, she got the faintest scent of the cheap cologne he always wore merged with a tang of body odour. Seems he's been busy, lately…

"Uncle Clay." She piped up, not too enthusiastic, but not neutral. The fact he didn't turn to her greeting made her stomach turn. Biting her lip, she scratched the nape of her neck as she scrubbed her brain for words that didn't come off as lame small talk.

' _Fucking hell, Liz, this is your uncle! Why're you struggling to talk to him? Oh yeah, 'cos you know you fucked up.'_ Her pervasive thoughts rampaged through her skull, and she came to a quick conclusion that there was no easy way to discuss this. Sighing the breath she felt like she'd been holding forever, her shoulders slumped.

"Uncle…" she began again, this time sombre and heavy. This garnered Clayton to set down the wires, and look over his shoulder to meet Lizzie's own; it was harsh, stoney and weighted. As he rose to his feet to meet her face-to-face, she felt herself stupidly intimidated before him.

"...I need to talk to you."

"What, about the nightmares? Your sleeping-in? Daydreaming in the motor pool on shift and nearly crushing yourself under a packhorse?" Clay immediately cut in. The words weren't scalding or venomous, in fact far from it. There was evident concern in his tone, despite the gravelly expression and raised eyebrow. Liz's mouth hung open for a moment, before it ultimately shut.

"Dizzy told you." It wasn't a question, but a mere statement from Lizzie. Clayton pulled a face of incredulousness, like he was irritated by the idea such a possibility couldn't exist.

" _Yes,_ Dizzy told me, Lizzie. Me and Danny've been serving alongside Diz for like...nearly forty fuckin' years. Of course he's gonna tell me if my niece has gone to absolute shit over a handful of weeks. Just be thankful your dad isn't in the loop about this, otherwise -both- our asses would be getting branded." Lizzie's heart dropped. She was positive her dad knew about her recent dilemmas and was just awaiting a reaming from Pa, but the truth that Dizzy had kept this information _specifically_ away from Daniel Carmine was enough to set her even more on edge- the idea of him finding out was killing her more than the fact Clayton has been aware since day one of her confiding in Dizzy.

"Or, would ya like to talk about how you almost walked yourself into a one-way ticket into a Swarm hive?" The words cut through her like a knife through butter- Clayton was _pissed_ about that part...and he sure as hell wasn't hiding it. Lizzie's eyes dropped to the concrete, unable to face her uncle's chastising glare.

"Oh. Yeah, I-"

"Yeah, what the fuck were you thinking, Elizabeth?" He interjects, brows furrowed and meaty arms crossed over his breastplate.

"I dunno, I…"

"I knew it. The moment I saw that look on your face, I knew exactly what that impulsiveness of yours was gonna get you into. Can't thank Thorne enough for stepping forwards before you." Clay crassly said as he turned back to the wires. Those words monumentally stung Lizzie, causing her mouth to drop again.

"Hey, that isn't fa-" Clay immediately turned from the wires once more, a thick finger pointing at Lizzie.

"Don't you dare say 'fair', Lizzie. Fairness ain't got shit to do with this. How am I supposed to protect you if you're just gonna sign yourself up for every suicide mission?" Clayton's barrage had her nailed on the spot, unable to drag up the words to reason with her livid uncle. Clay waited with irate patience, gesturing for an answer.

"What's going on, Liz? Are you _that_ desperate to prove yourself? To your Pa? To prove him wrong about you joining the COG?"

It was those words that sparked an indignant flame in Lizzie. As much as she loved her dad, she truly didn't give a shit if he believed her ready or not; it wasn't him she was needing to appease to.

"Who the fuck am I proving myself to?! No-one! I ain't like one of those starry-eyed greenies straight out of boot looking for shiny medals to feel like somebody. I've been in the machine since I was eighteen! I've fought Outsiders, served my people. I don't have to prove shit to anyone, I ain't like Uncle Ben! I ain-" The words left her mouth before she even registered them in her brain, leaving her mouth agape staring at Clay, whose jaw had visibly clenched with flared nostrils to boot.

Suddenly, she felt like the most cardinal sinner on the face of Sera,- the breath leaving her lungs as her forehead sank into her palm whilst her voice returned to equilibrium. She may not have thought this a handful of seconds ago, but thank god the two of them were alone in this hangar.

"Fuck, uncle...I'm sorry, I-I didn't mea-" Her apology was halted by a firm grunt and raised palm of Clay, as he seemingly swallowed down whatever brutal reckoning he had planned for her. His own voice was level and calm, but firm.

"No, no. I'll give you that one. You ain't like him in that sense. Benjamin was the kid of us four. We never wanted him to join the COG; he was too much of a soft kid, I mean- the squirt used to put spiders out of the house rather than kill 'em." The two shared a fleeting, sad chuckle. Lizzie could see the faint gloss brew in Clay's eyes as he looked to the ceiling. "When Anthony died...me and Danny doubled on our efforts to sway him from enlisting. And he wanted to prove us wrong. The day he was eligible, he just...signed on up without telling us until he'd completed basic." Clay sighed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, letting his rear slump onto the stage. "So, no Liz, you ain't like Benjamin in that sense. You share one of his more fatal traits. The need to prove himself _for_ himself. Ben hid his inexperience behind false bravado and aggressive recklessness. And it was that shit right there? That got him killed. He wore the same look you had that exact moment you nearly signed yourself up for the Hivebuster programme." He levelled a screwdriver plucked from the toolbox at Lizzie. "And fucking hell take these old bones of mine if I don't intervene this time around. I love you, Elizabeth. Your dad loves you. I ain't letting these fuckers claim another Carmine because of a lapse in judgement." Finished with his piece, he lowers his head, and carries on tangling with the wires.

Lizzie just...stands there, processing the words over and over. Clay was right; the nightmares, the daydreams of her failing over and over? She's been spending the past few weeks continuously doubting herself, and she hated being so transparent in her efforts to mask it.

"I'm...ready, uncle. Fuck, I've been ready for this day for so long." She almost pleaded- looking at Clay with sad eyes, which rewarded her with a melancholy huff and half-smile.

"You don't think I'm aware of that? Liz, I knew your dad never wanted you to enlist. And I knew that wasn't gonna stop you; why do you think I've spent so long watching over you, guiding you; pulling the right strings to get you to meet Fenix and Walker?" The questions he gave her were completely rhetorical, Lizzie was wholly aware of that. She kept silent, as she knew Clay was right from the get-go. "I'm annoyed at you, because I've already assigned you to join me on the spearhead for the assault."

Lizzie's eyes widened, and she stared at her uncle with bewildered blankness, which caused Clayton's smile to broaden. He stood to his feet, and softly took her hand in his own; dwarfing it within his palm.

"You _are ready_ , Elizabeth. You and I are gonna win this war. Together. We're Carmines, and what do we do?" He asked softly. Rolling her tongue along her lips, she silently muttered:

"Carmines don't quit…"

"I can't hear you." Clay said plainly.

"Carmines don't quit." She repeated, louder and more assured, looking Clay in the eyes. He nodded with a sad smile.

"Damn right, we don't. You're gonna make Anthony and Benjamin _so_ proud...your Ma, too." Lizzie felt the familiar burning of tears begin to well in her eyes, but such a moment like this didn't deserve to be sullied with tears. It's time she earned her surname. She broke out into a soft smile, but again, for some reason, it fleeted.

A deathly silence fell between the two. Clay watched and read his niece's face and the picture it painted, before he broke the gentle silence.

"You were gonna say that wasn't fair. What wasn't?" He asked softly, but Lizzie already knew that he was wholly aware of what she was referring to. She couldn't bring herself to look her uncle in the eye, again, and so Clay once again bridged across the quiet. "It's Thorne, isn't it? You ain't pissed he took your opportunity to shine; you're pissed it was him who signed up, full-stop."

"...he shouldn't have done that. He should've -talked- to us; to me." She quietly replied back, withdrawing her hand from Clay's and lacing her fingers together in front of her pelvis. Clay rolled his jaw, mulling his next words with great care.

"Liz...I've read his file. This is...something he's expected to do. It's kinda what Valker and Hoffman were hoping for, actually." Unfortunately for Clay, these words proved to be a bad choice, as Lizzie glared at him with abject shock and confused...heartbreak?

' _Expected?! The fuck does that mean?!'_ Her thoughts screamed in her head like a raging maelstrom. None of this added up. He was a regular Gear before the Swarm began to rise, now all of a sudden he's being regarded as this secret commando.

" _ **Why?!**_ Why him? It doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be _him_ , for god's sake i-"

"Lizzie." Clay interjected firmly, placing both hands on his shoulders. His anchor-like presence stopped her confusing ranting short, and she looked at Clay with teary eyes.

"...I...don't want him to go, uncle...I want to know _why_ …" She whimpered.

Clayton placed the look on her face- the emotion that tagged along with it in it's painful, yet beautiful rarity. He sighed, and softly cupped her cheek.

"He's your squadmate, Lizzie. Ask him. Otherwise...you may regret never doing it." Despite the words of reassurance he offered her, Lizzie couldn't help but feel the same unease the moment Benik stepped forwards for the programme. What infuriated her more was that she couldn't understand _why_ it affected her so. Sure, if Gorchev or Alvarez stepped forwards, she'd be enraged and upset. But with Benik? She was heartbroken. And she couldn't understand why…

All she could do was nod at Clay, who returned the gesture, and pulled her into a soft, warm embrace.

"C'mon. I gotta finish up here, then report to CIC. You've got somewhere to be, as well." He softly hushed into her ear. They shared the tender moment for a while, before they both pulled back. With a stabilising sniffle, Lizzie idly wiped away the tears that escaped down her cheeks, and gave her uncle a sure smile.

"Thanks, uncle. I'll...see you soon? Before we ship out?" She pursed her lips, to which Clay silently nodded.

"Yeah. You know where to find me."

As Lizzie turned on her heels to leave, his voice called her name to her, once more, causing her to turn back to face him.

"Be honest with him. And maybe he'll give you the same courtesy." He gave her a knowing, sombre look. The only issue is she had no idea what the 'knowing' part was. Silently nodding, Lizzie turned for the hangar doors to make her exit- stepping back out into the Seran sunlight and making her way to Echo-4's usual leisure spot.

_**~ 11 minutes later** _

The walk across the garrison was much like most of her walks the past few weeks: empty of thinking, head down and just focusing on walking the same beaten path she'd known for a good couple years since she came to Tyro Garrison. She passed the doorway back into the main complex from whence she came, and even passed the motor pool. She gave it an idle glance as she passed, lip quirking.

' _Should see if I can steal a shift. Getting my hands and hair greasy always helps take my mind off shit.'_ Lizzie mused silently to herself.

When she finally came to the leisure block did she see through the sprawling windows that was where most of the garrison had vanished to. The gym was practically full and the recreation hall was in a similar state of overpopulation- a couple of Gears were even waiting their turn for the games console. Huffing thankfully, she pushed through the doors that took her from the outside into the corridor and let her memory guide her to the library, or as the garrison called it, 'the mausoleum', given how it was never filled with more than 6 people at one time, on a good day. 4 of those were always Lizzie and Echo-4. As such, they'd claimed the 'mausoleum' as their personal area to chill outside of their own bunks and rooms; something that the rest of the garrison had grown to respect. Everyone needed their down time and privacy.

But it seemed privacy was out of question. As Lizzie got closer to the doors that lead into the 'mausoleum', she could already hear the muffled, verberating voices screaming from the other side of the doors. It was evident there were two voices at play. Seventy-five percent of it was Ellen, the rest was Benik. Every step that brought her closer allowed Lizzie to better understand the volatility of the words being thrown; there was anger and a LOT of swearing.

Coming to the door, she gently grasped the handle and closed her eyes to brace for the storm. Sucking in a sharp breath, she pushes the door open, and is quick to shut it behind her the moment Ellen's shouting hits her ears.

"-o the fuck do you think you are?! We're a _squad_ , Benik, we don't do this shit to each other!" Ellen balefully roared. Not a single member of Echo turned to acknowledge Lizzie's arrival aside from Gorchev, who simply spared her a glance for a fleeting moment before he returned to staring at some imaginary line between the two verbal combatants.

Ellen was pacing back and forth, expressively using her arms with every curse she threw out whilst Benik was reclined against a drawer with his arms folded.

"You going to say something, Thorne? Or you just gonna stay all frozen like that?! All semblance of guilt or conscience abso-fucking-lutely voided from your head, eh?!" Ellen barked challengingly. Benik smacked his lips, not making eye contact. His own voice was laced with venom- it was obvious he'd raised his own temper a few times.

"What's the bloody point. You can't change my mind, Alvarez, you know that as much as anyone." He coldly retorted, earning him a scoff from the kashkuri.

"The bloody point I'm looking for is _WHY_. You've given us absolutely nothing to go off aside from the fact you have a death wish. Echo-4's lost enough squadmembers as it is. You so damned eager to add your own notch to that list?!"

"Look, I made a choice, Al. I'd have thought you understood that this is above and beyond the whole 'personal concerns' malarkey." He arched a brow. Ellen scoffed mirthlessly once again, pacing back and forth with her hands on her hips.

"Yeah...but that's not exactly the case for you, is it?" She snidely remarked. This provoked Gorchev to look up with his eyes, a stern glare directed at the kashkuri.  
"Ellen." He said once, dryly. Lizzie immediately saw the dangerous stare Benik levelled at Alvarez.

"Don't pretend you're doing this for the greater good, you fucking hypocrite. You're so goddamn transparent." Ellen sneered through flared nostrils.

"Ellen, enough." Gorchev warned, which caused Ellen's attention to shift wholly onto the Ostri sergeant.  
"What, just because he got his old squad killed doesn't mean he has to so stupidly follow them into the grave!" Gorchev's eyes flared, and was already on his feet. A brief flash passed in the peripheral of Lizzie's eye, and before she could register what it even was:

"You fucking _cunt!-"_ Benik had already darted from his reclined posture,- eyes wide and teeth bared as he lunged for Alvarez. Gorchev intercepted him- standing between Thorne and Alvarez like a brick wall, arms wide either side and grasping onto his punching arm to ensure the smaller Benik couldn't slip past him and land that curled right hook. Alvarez had already recoiled back, her own fist raised as Gorchev fenced off Benik. Tensions had skyrocketed in a heartbeat, and Lizzie couldn't comprehend such a brutal infighting between her friends like this.

"Fucking **STOP!** " Lizzie cried, her voice cutting into the discordant orchestra of shouting and cursing like a knife through butter. And much to her surprise, all three pairs of Echo-4's eyes swayed onto Lizzie. They drank in the shock, horror and disappointment upon her face, and the simmering blood began to calm. A look of shame and guilt crept onto Ellen's face, and her posture retreated into one of nervous pacing,- a hand clasping over her mouth. Gorchev wore a contemptuous face of grander disappointment. But what broke Lizzie's heart the most was Benik; he wore a fixed scowl, but his jaw was quivering, and his limbs were shaking noticeably; cold daggers bored into Ellen wherever she paced, and as she turned to speak to him, his lips pulled back to bare teeth, once more.

"Benik, I'm so sor-"

"You've done enough, private." Gorchev snapped over his shoulder, which shut her up immediately. Rubbing her chin, Ellen took a seat on the old librarian desk- hiding her eyes from all. Gorchev turned his gaze back to Benik.

"Are we calm?" He asked firmly. Benik was still staring- but he seemed lost in his gaze; whilst his eyes were more or less where Ellen was, he seemed to not even be looking at her. Lizzie found herself lost just...staring at this man she was beginning to understand. It stung monumentally for her to know she was beginning to regret what she was wishing for. All that pain and rage for someone so young.

"Private Thorne. _Are. We. Calm?_ " Gorchev asked again, slower but more firmly. Life returned to Benik's eyes, and he momentarily turned his head to look at Gorchev, before briskly jerking his arm once, freeing himself from Gorchev's barricading grip. The sergeant held up his hands in a defensive manner.

"Easy. Easy, Nik. Just take a moment to-"

"Shut your mouth." Benik coldly droned,- the words were hollow, devoid of hate- of any emotion,- which of course had the intended effect on Gorchev of closing his mouth. The younger man shook his head at the sergeant before chuckling without humour. "You've known, all along. And you still let her say that." Turning around, he snatched his gym bag (which he must've gathered from his bunk before Alvarez dragged him here) and slung it over his shoulder before making a beeline for the door.

"Benik, wait." Ellen began, but Benik didn't stop. "I've lost too many friends, already." This caused Benik to stop and stay still for a moment. He didn't meet Lizzie's gaze, even as she stared forlornly at him.

"We aren't friends." He dryly spat. The empty words burned like acid, and Lizzie registered the coldness that crept onto Ellen's face the moment the blow hit her hard. No more words came from the kashkuri, and Benik continued for the exit, coldly passing by Lizzie.

"Benik-" She silently pleaded, but the man had already pushed his way through the door. Silence took its throne in the library- a defeated sigh leaving Ellen's lips. Folding his arms across his chest, Gorchev stared at her.

"That wasn't very smart, was it?" He chided bitterly. The kashukri simply pulled a cigarette from her pocket and began to light it.

"No. No it bloody well wasn't...guy might be going to his death, and I just filled his mind with that bollocks." She gruffly exhaled, which provoked a frustrated grunt from Lizzie. She needed to speak to him, and now he was slipping away once again, for reasons she still struggled to grasp, her heart only ached more. She felt too drained- too offput to approach him with what had just occurred, but uncle Clay was right. She needed to be honest. It was her turn to make a choice.

"Goddamn it." She quietly hissed, immediately turning for the door, ignoring the concerned looks Gorchev and Alvarez shot her way. As she stepped into the corridor, he gaze frantically moved from left to right, until her cool blue eyes fixed on the shrinking silhouette of Benik moving away down the corridor. Sucking in a lungful of air, she took after him- her roughened boots drumming on the plain vinyl flooring as she quickly closed the gap with her squadmate.

"Benik! Wait!" Her words rolled to-and-fro throughout the corridors, but she saw the figure slow down and come to a stop. A half dozen seconds later, she'd caught up to the Gear, who'd turned sidelong to stare at her.

"I need to talk to you." She said hoarsely- the faint intensity of her breathing to compensate for the mad sprint she just performed. Benik sighed breathlessly, shrugging his shoulder to shift his gym bag into a more comfortable position.

"Not now, Lizzie." He began to turn away, and Lizzie felt her teeth grit.

' _No, you fucking don't. You're not walking away, this time.'_ She inwardly snarled, but on the outside, her hand reached out, grabbing his wrist which anchored him in place.

"No. No...now." Lizzie struggled to comprehend just what the hell she had done, but even as her eyes fixed onto her fingers tentatively closed around his wrist, she controlled her mouth to ensure it stayed shut,- modifying her gaze to be a fleeting, sad stare of determination. As Benik moved his own gaze to look down at his wrist, his eyes followed back up to Lizzie's. Expecting him to simply pull away like he did with Gorchev, her heart began to beat quicker as he simply turned in her grip to face her- his expression was solemn, and withdrawn.

Licking her lips, Lizzie awkwardly removed her hand from his wrist, and brought it back to her side, clearing her throat quietly.

"Well? You hear to give me an earbashing, as well?" He began flatly.

"What? No, I-"

"Because to tell you the truth, Liz, I've just gone through fifteen minutes of it with Ellen."

"Benik, I'm-"

"So, if it's going to be that, just make it qui-"

"Benik!" She sharply interjected, which startled the man slightly, much to her surprise. Gathering herself, she ran her hands through her hair- taking in some sweet, remedying breaths to steady her heart rate and minimalism her fumbling over her words. Staring dumbly into his rich, brown eyes, Lizzie found herself unable to speak; bouncing ever-so lightly on the balls of her feet like a child. Benik waited with great patience, and she could see he was in two minds to leave her in her dumbfounded stupor, or wait an eternity.

' _Open your mouth, idiot. Say something. Anything! If he walks away, you're gonna regret this choice of staying silent!'_ Lizzie screamed in her head, but still no words came to mind and mouth. After seemingly forever, Benik sighed, and shook his head.

"Sorry, Elizabeth. I've gotta go clear my head. See you." He turned on his heels to carry on his original course, but in the spur of the moment, her brain took over. Her body seized up and her voice came out in a quiet, but hurried tone.

"Please don't go." Was all she could muster. But it had the intended effect. Lizzie bit her lip as Benik stopped, and turned again to face her- this time with a bit more flatness in his stare.

"Cat given you your tongue back, now?"

"No...I mean-...please don't go on the mission." She silently pleaded, and she could've sworn his face softened into something akin to yearning- almost like he was partially persuaded. Closing his eyes dismissively, he exhaled.

"I have to." He bluntly replied. Not a good enough response in her book; not one fucking bit.

"No. No you don't." She insisted.

"Look, Liz, you don't understand-"

"Then _HELP_ me understand, Benik." She took a step closer, her hands almost shooting out to press against his shoulders (a motion she immediately restrained). She continued to stare at her squad member- the object of this wanton desire she couldn't explain- and saw nothing but conflict and turmoil in those deep, heavy eyes of his.

"I _saw_ you, Benik...I saw you...tear up in the assembly. The way you applauded when that marine joined…" She saw him tense up and clench his jaw, building an emotional suit of armour in an instant; but Lizzie'd be damned if she didn't let herself slip through his guard, this time. "I don't know what that was about- _any_ of it-...but you don't have to do this, alone. And what you said back there? To Ellen? To us? I don't believe that...not for a fucking second, Benik…" She bit her lip, and stepped closer, not once did they break eye contact. She was so close; _he_ was so close. She had made it past those mental defences he walled himself behind- weeks of unintentional effort now beginning to show its hand; until Benik stepped back, and Lizzie suddenly felt herself on the outside, again. She wasn't going to show it, but this whole ordeal was hurting her- the burn of building tears behind her eyes took her whole willpower to hold them back.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. But Ellen is right; I get friends killed. I've made countless mistakes that have cost myself and others I cared about, dearly...in ways I cannot ever repay. So, please. Let me do right by you and save someone, for once." He morosely spoke; the words sincere and bittersweet. And it was in that moment, it all came crashing down to her- the cruel realisation of Benik's impulsiveness. There was revenge, hatred and so much anguish in his motive...but that one mysterious factor she could've never determined finally became all to clear.

' _He did this for me...to protect me…'_ Her lips parted, but the air in her lungs hitched in her throat. It was obvious Benik could read the realisation on her face, and he sadly nodded once with that same rare, sweet smile- no matter how melancholic it was.

"Tell Ellen and Vasili that I'm sorry for what I said...and if I make it back-"

"Benik…-" She softly interjected.

"- _IF_. I make it back…" he wouldn't accept her plea for a positive outlook, but Lizzie was wholly aware the days of positive thinking were soon to be forgotten in the coming weeks. "...I'll tell you everything. All of it. I owe it to you, at the least, for stealing your shot of suicide." He bitterly chuckled, but the dark humour didn't elicit any smile in return from her. The two continued to stare at once another- nothing else seemed to matter, but Lizzie felt she had left so much unsaid, yet couldn't find what she wanted to fill the void of silence with.

"Yeah…" he finally droned with a sad smile, before turning on his heels to finally carry on- walking away from her.

Lizzie watched Benik walk away, leaving her behind, and alone. Her lips finally closed, and she no longer had the strength to hold back the tears. They carved pale tracks down her cheeks, as she continued to stare into the vacant corridor where he once stood.

' _Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop fucking crying, Lizzie! It's...going to be fine. He's coming back. Whatever you were gonna say to him, say it then.'_ She hated having mental spars with herself, but never before since her mother died had Lizzie felt so alone- the idea of such a comparison alone only frustrated her more.

"Fffuck. I need to work." She hissed quietly to herself with a strained whimper; furiously drying her eyes, before she doubled back on herself.

Maybe Hank could spare her a free shift of privacy at the motor pool, where she can drown her anger and woes beneath the roaring of an engine she can fix.

* * *

_**Phew! What a drama storm, ammiright?** _

_**Next chapter will feature namely some flashbacks to give you all a bit of a better grasp of how Liz and Benik met, and more how this semi-awkward start of an uneasy friendship has blossomed into...whatever the hell these two are, right now.** _

_**Stay tuned!** _


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